The first dream that wakes me up is about Arabella Figg. I didn't know her name when Father sent me on a mission to Little Whinging. Apparently, Voldemort thought that it would be more believable if I went poking my head around for some "scrawny kid that lives on your street." Everybody else shrugged their shoulders or turned me away, but Figg almost entertained the idea of Potter having a friend.
The slight twitch in her jaw over Potter's name would be enough to convince Father that she knew something. And I could either bring her back to him or take care of it myself. The Crucio was weak, but enough to have her begging for mercy. She didn't know where Potter was and confirmed that his old Muggle family wouldn't, either.
The mission was considered a waste, and I have spent more time remembering it than living it. But each nightmare has me torturing her for longer. Sometimes I swear that I can see myself smile as the short burst of red light flows through my wand. And this time, I hear the beginning of a laugh as I kick myself awake.
It takes a moment to realize where I am, and it's not until I see the posts on my bed that I remember I'm home.
"Accio wand," I murmur in the darkness until reality sets in. It's better this way, I suppose. Can't be a threat without a weapon, right?
Adjusting to life in Azkaban was easy – the days all looked the same, which simplified every decision. But the endless opportunities of halls to walk down, books to read, food to eat, and hobbies to practice overwhelms me as I take a step deeper into my old bedroom. There is just much bloody stuff in here – a Quidditch broom, bookshelves taking over the entire wall, a walk-in closet filled with enough robes to last a month. Who would ever need this shit? Did I?
I am instantly thankful that Valencia is coming later this morning. It's something to plan for instead of picking what to do. Maybe she can give me some homework. Some distractions.
The lights stay off again as I hop into the shower. The water is at its highest temperature, and yet I'm still frustrated when I can't use a warming spell to make it burn my skin even redder. The initial pain of the water subdues, leaving a numbness behind as the minutes rush by. Images of the cottage, the beach, and the little waves start to bubble in my memory, alongside the blurred voices of the people I've hurt as their pained sobs break through the sound of the flowing water. Olivia's is there, too, quieter than the rest.
They deserve better than for me to try not to feel their anger.
But how do I feel this without falling apart?
I'm here because I couldn't imagine running away from the pain when they didn't have a choice. It would be even more cowardly to try and escape it again. Azkaban or not, they're staying in my head.
And maybe the best that I can do for them and me is to take it one day at a time.
It has to be at least an hour later when I pull myself out of the shower; fingers shrivelled to prunes, skin bright and scrubbed raw.
I snap my fingers for Tomsy once I've dried off and put on fresh robes, leaving behind the bathroom for the candlelit bedroom.
"Master Draco!"
He seems excited.
"Can you bring my breakfast here today? With a black coffee?"
"Already, Master?"
"Why, what time is it?"
"It is the middle of the night, Master Draco! It is still being dark outside."
And sure enough, it is. I walk over to the bedroom window for the first time since my return, forgetting just how much there is to see outside. The seemingly endless hedges inspire a flip of my stomach, and I step away from the vast openness.
"Hm, just the coffee then."
The elf nods, snapping to the kitchen and then back again, coffee mug in hand. He snaps away without a word after I take the cup from his long fingers. The first sip scalds my tongue, but it tastes better than any of the food in Azkaban. Tomsy appears again minutes later with a second cup.
"Tomsy remembers that Master Draco likes TWO cups!"
"Oh right," I manage, grateful for his ability to remember something that I hadn't.
After drinking the second cup as quickly as the first, my bed tries to tempt me. I think about crawling back into the comfort of the warm sheets but decide against it when I remember just how awake my mind is.
The hallways are as clean as ever and more polished than they'd been at any point during the war. Tomsy, probably. The elf needed something to do. I wonder if he had any idea that one of us would ever come back to the manor or if he was keeping it clean regardless. The portraits on the walls look surprised to see somebody else in front of them, and I do my best to keep my eyes away from theirs. They watched me try to help the side of the war that lost. Surely, they must be disappointed.
Something catches my eye as I turn the corner to reach the staircase. Flowing dark cloaks rush down the steps so quickly that I can't make them out, like a sharp gust of wind. I follow them, careful to adjust my eyes in the darkness until I'm standing at the bottom of the staircase on the marble where the moon's light is shining in through the wall of windows. A figure stands in the corner, tall and towering. Suddenly, a paleness creeps through the cloaked form. I take a step back, distancing myself from the path of light. Red eyes open next. Another step back. And then it's moving forward, and my feet freeze in place. My eyes shift to the closest door, remembering the fastest way to reach the fireplace to escape, and I grab at the pocket where my wand would have been.
My eyes glue themselves shut as I try to dare myself to keep moving, to rush away as quickly as I came running down. But then the lids of my eyes are warmer as a brightness consumes the room. I fight back the urge to open them, expecting to see the Manor upside down when I do.
"Master Draco!" Tomsy pops, and my eyes open to a room filled with candlelight.
"Wh-where did he go?"
"I is not knowing who," Tomsy starts, and I wonder if maybe I had given into the temptation of going back to sleep. Was I just sleepwalking? Or was somebody here, inside of the house?
No, I saw him die. Nobody is here.
A slow, shaky breath blows its way past my lips, and I let Tomsy walk me back to my room.
Once I'm sitting comfortably in the middle of my four-poster, bright green blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I narrow my focus and close my eyes, visualizing the Black Lake in front of me. The water is still today, reflecting the sky above it as if it's ignorant to the terrifying depths beneath it. I keep myself focused on it, imagining how it would feel to gently rest my palm against the surface, like a lily pad. The calm cold of the water rushes through my veins, grounding me as I sink deeper into occlumency.
Once relaxed, I shift my focus to the castle behind the lake. I pull memories out of their sorted houses, yanking the thoughts from the war out and throwing them into the dungeons instead. Once Voldemort, the Death Eaters, and the Battle of Hogwarts are forced inside, I bring out the trusted cement truck to seal them in. The door is finally filled to the top with sturdy grey cement, and I head back to the lake and imagine plunging my whole body into the murky waters. Once clean of the dust from the dungeons, I open my eyes to my bedroom at Malfoy Manor, pulling myself away from the magic.
And then, all at once, they're in my bedroom. Voldemort. Bellatrix. Greyback, Yaxley, Dolohov. Standing in blood, smirking at each other, as if I'd never buried them.
I force a blink, and then they're gone. But they're not in the dungeon, locked away from my thoughts. They're roaming the grounds, splashing through the lake, and forcing their way through the castle halls, and my occlumency suddenly isn't strong enough to keep them at bay.
I give up after a few more tries of locking them away. Only the odd memory manages to stay buried, and the rest are all at the front, fighting for my focus. They aren't going anywhere right now.
Since I can't ground myself into peaceful occlumency, I try to revisit the realities of my new old bedroom. The Death Eaters aren't standing in front of me anymore, but the loudness of their absence penetrates the air. It feels like the walls are dripping in their crimes, and even the solace of my bed isn't enough.
As if he knew the perfect time to pull me from my thoughts, Tomsy appears.
"Tomsy is here to remind Master Draco that Miss Valencia Collins is coming."
"Yes, how much longer?"
"30 minutes, Master Draco. Tomsy is just getting the study ready."
"Can I help?"
"No, Master Draco! Tomsy can get it ready just right. Master Draco does not need to worry."
"Well, then can I watch?"
Tomsy is reluctant to lead me down to the study, but I don't care.
The space has been cleaned of any of its past uses. It's not Father's study, or Mother's even, but one of the spares that had been set aside for the revolving door of specialists that Voldemort would send to us. They would use the room to brew new potions, research antidotes, or any other need that popped up. And now, it would be used to help determine my fate.
It's a whole new room by the time Valencia arrives. The bookshelves are empty and ready for whatever she wishes to fill them with. The walnut desk is bare, other than a pile of parchment, a new quill, and a fresh cup of coffee.
Her presence is announced by the clacking of her heels on the marble. Tomsy walks her to the study, eyeing the coffee on the table to ensure that Valencia recognizes his effort in remembering her instructions.
She nods at the elf and flicks her wrist, instructing him to leave. Tomsy looks at me, waiting for the same, and leaves when I mimic her nod. He closes the door on his way out, and I'm alone with my lawyer for the first time.
"How was your first night home?" She asks.
"I'm… adjusting."
"It might take some time," she says like she knows what it means to adjust. "Now, I know you're probably pretty confused, but I'm here today to answer any questions and walk you through what our next steps are."
Valencia goes for the coffee cup and slides into a wooden chair. I follow suit and do the same, placing myself on the other side of the desk. Before continuing, she conjures a blank piece of parchment.
"Nam puer salutem," she whispers, tapping her wand to the middle of the parchment. As she pulls her wand back, thick black lettering appears and covers the page in front of us.
"This might help," she tells me, sliding it over. I pick it up and instantly recognize the handwriting.
Miss Collins,
Never in my life have I taught a student so pompous and greedy for attention. But the overzealous tendencies of Draco Malfoy are going to come back to haunt him one day, and I fear that nobody will be left to protect him. Please see to it that he does not spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.
There is no signature on the parchment.
"This letter came to me about eighteen months ago, along with the key to a vault at Gringotts. I tried to return both, and when I did, Severus Snape showed up and dragged me to a vault with about 20,000 galleons in it. It was enough to capture my attention, and it came with one condition. The Unbreakable Vow."
20,000 galleons for me. Well, I guess the git had no other use for it now that he was gone. But why me? And why the vow?
"Did he tell you why?" I ask.
"I was actually hoping that you'd be able to answer that question for me. Severus wasn't exactly the talking type. We went to Hogwarts together, and I hadn't spoken to him until an owl dropped off that letter for me. And we didn't speak again after I took the vow."
I shake my head, and she momentarily looks as lost as I do.
"Well, whatever the reason, it's making me 20,000 galleons richer. You should know that my vow is only to try as hard as possible to give you the best defense. I cannot keep you out of Azkaban, but I will be trying my best."
I look at her as she waits, expecting me to speak. I consider thanking her, but nothing comes out.
"So, we have six months to prepare. This is probably the best-case scenario, and I knew we'd never get those twelve months. In addition to trying to find you, I've spent the past few months trying to decide how we would frame your role in the war. And speaking of, care to tell me where you were, anyway?"
"Australia."
"Good choice. I think it will play in your favor that you're the one to rat your family out."
I wince at the word 'rat.'
"Now, I've been told that you're quite the tough nut. And considering that it seems like you wanted to go to Azkaban, I realize that you might not be the most eager to help me. But never mind that. I will still prepare you an airtight case, and with a little bit of luck, you might only have to spend a few more months there. But if you're willing to help me, we may be able to keep you out altogether."
"Just give me something to stay busy," I give her.
"I was hoping you'd say that. I'd like us to make the Wizengamot believe that you only did what you did because you felt you had no other choice. That you were threatened into it. Born into the wrong family. This wouldn't help your case if you were a more experienced wizard, but your age will help us out. So, I'd like you to try and recall any memories that you have of your father or the Dark Lord himself pushing you to perform dark magic. The older the memory, the better. Do you think you can do that?"
I nod.
"Fantastic. I'm going to be visiting you once every fortnight. I'd like a list ready the next time that I see you. Try to stay out of trouble until then, yeah?"
I nod again. She waits a beat and then narrows her eyes, locking them onto mine. Searching. Then she purses her lips, grabs the near-empty cup of coffee, and finishes it before standing up and heading to the exit.
"You can still send owls but be careful about writing anything that could incriminate you further. They might stop the post and inspect it without warning. And do be careful about having anybody over. They will find out."
Everything starts moving so quickly, and I remember all the things I want to ask as she hurries for the fireplace. But there is only one thing that can't wait until next time.
"Do you know what has happened to my mother?"
"Oh yes, I was wondering when you might ask that. I have not seen the memory that your father provided for the pensieve, but I can confirm that your mother is in Azkaban with a ten-year sentence."
Ten years. That's not so bad, especially compared to the others. Maybe Father really could help.
"Can I-."
"You can't visit her yet. Not while you're on house arrest. But you can write to her. Just owl it to me, and I'll make sure it gets to Narcissa."
She is hopping into the fireplace before I can give her my signature nod. Tomsy approaches with a sack of Floo powder, offering it to her as she juggles her wand and coffee cup. Our eyes meet again, and she beats me to the nod before dropping the powder and returning to wherever it is that she came from.
The familiar sense of solitude creeps back in, and I curse myself for not keeping her here for longer. If only I had asked more questions, spoken up more, or even asked her to stay. Maybe she would have.
I retreat to my room, deciding that it might be time for a nap. It feels colder than the rest, which is noticed as soon as my feet cross the threshold. Conjuring more blankets is a thought that gets pushed aside quickly, and I bundle myself with my sheets and green blanket, desperate to fall asleep again.
Fortunately, no nightmares come. But no dreams do, either.
I wake up later, shivering and covered in goosebumps. This time I rely on the window to indicate the hour, and the sun slowly starting to set feels like validation. I've successfully managed to sleep away the day.
My hunger sets in as soon as I stand, and I realize how long it's been since I've eaten. A snap brings Tomsy in, looking all too eager.
"Master Draco!"
"I'd like to eat dinner now," I instruct.
He pops away, bringing back a silver tray. On it is a lamb stew in a bread bowl, along with a glass of pumpkin juice. Tomsy is gone before I can thank him.
I devour the food too quickly to taste anything. Once I finish, I push back the tray and wait for it to disappear. So much time passes before I realize that it's not going anywhere that I am almost ashamed. To keep busy, I take it to the kitchen myself. Tomsy looks surprised when I walk in, perhaps unaware that I even know where to go.
I decide to head to the library on my way back. A book or two might help fend off boredom or intrusive thoughts, and the manor has no shortage. But the state of the library is one of the few things that has changed since returning to the manor, and my eyes don't need to finish scanning the shelves to realize what has happened. Half of our books are missing.
I'm marching back to the kitchen in frustration before I can think to summon Tomsy.
"Where are the books?" I shout.
Caught by surprise, Tomsy's eyes go wide and swell.
"Oh, it is Tomsy's fault for not telling Master Draco sooner! Wizards came and took them."
"What wizards, Tomsy?"
The elf explains it to me. They were gone when Tomsy returned from Australia. He had to find some of the old house-elves from before the war to find out what happened. The Ministry came to the manor while looking for us and raided the library for clues. All the books that had any trace of my father, Voldemort, or any other Death Eater were taken as evidence. Clearly, they didn't find anything, or they'd have gotten to us sooner.
My blood boils at the idea of the Ministry touching our property, and I have to remind myself that it's their job and that it makes sense. That we were wanted criminals.
Tomsy has burst into tears since telling the story, devastated by my anger. I leave him in a puddle of his own making and return to the library.
Anything that I'd touched or that my family had handled in the years leading up to the war has been removed. Thankfully, the collection is large enough that I have some things to choose from. I add the task of sorting through the books to my list of things to do the next time I'm desperate for a distraction and walk out of the library with a fictional book about animagi.
I walk past the fireplace on my way back to my wing. The crackle of activated embers forces me to spin around, watching it breathe. Valencia is the only person I can imagine walking out of it unless an old friend has decided to pay a visit. But they're all in Azkaban or at least on house arrest, too.
Surprise fills my face when, after the quick green flash, the mudblood walks out. Hermione Granger, timidly stepping out of my fireplace. For a moment, I think it's another nightmare. She looks surprised to see me standing there, watching her as if she hasn't just entered my home uninvited.
We stand across from each other for a moment, my eyes daring her to speak first.
"Oh, that's a good one. I read it in Third Year," Granger finally says, pointing to the book in my hand. Of course she's bloody read it. The urge to throw it in the fireplace behind her sparks into my head, and I resist.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" I bark.
"Oh, um," she racks her brain to come up with an explanation. I can't think of one to guess.
"I guess I just knew you've gone so long without visitors. I thought you might want some company," she manages.
She has her wand at her side, hanging from her right hand. Was she prepared to curse me if need be? The rest of her is less threatening. She's wearing a grey dress that washes her out, along with a white button-up shirt beneath it. The top button is undone.
She catches me mentally evaluating her outfit and speaks up again.
"So, would you?"
"Would I what, Granger?" I spit out.
"Like some company?"
I can't tell what response she wants. Her need to be the best must have forced her here, desperate to be the hero again. But the wand and the failure to step forward all make her seem desperate to be sent away so that she can fall asleep tonight and know that at least she tried to be nice to Draco Fucking Malfoy.
"What do you think?" I scoff, reaching for the sack of Floo powder and holding it out to her.
She doesn't say anything and rolls her eyes as she takes a handful, leaving me with a bright green flame and an empty room.
I can't help but chuckle. The Golden Girl game to see a Death Eater. What would her little boyfriend have to say about that?
And then the vision of the last time she was here starts to replay in my memories. Laid out on the cold floor, blood dripping from her arm. And I wonder how much of that Gryffindor bravery she had to summon to come back here, only to be turned away.
The least I can do is read the stupid fucking book that she liked so much.
A/N: Thank you for making it this far. I hope that you're all as excited as I am to have more Hermione in the upcoming chapters.