My head is held high as I reach the front step. Tacitly, I stretch my wrists out to be bound. Let them see me surrender willingly. Golden ropes instantly ensnare me, carving away my most viable means of defending myself. My occlumency shields, battered though they are, serve me well one more time as every storm brewing in my gut holds fast behind their walls of impermeable steel. I shall guard my mind well, as it is the only place left that's out of the reach of my enemies.
I make no mistake, these are my enemies. Perhaps not each individual auror, but the system they represent - the one that surely gloated over my father's remains, revelled in the streets for every Dark life lost. They wish to exact vengeance upon me, extract my blood for all of their sins and call it justice.
I won't let them see me fall as I'm pushed roughly off of the step, landing swiftly to my feet to their collective fury. I stare vacantly into the distance, not a crease on my face to show my apprehension. I stay this way for weeks: gazing blankly as a dead man into nothing. When I am stripped of my clothing, I do not allow my dignity to be tossed away with it. When I am subjected to humiliating searches and derogatory scans, I force myself to remain nonplussed. When I'm locked in a cage to be forgotten - or to be remembered as a beast among men - I recall the dragon inside.
"Well aren't you pretty," growls the swine I'm assigned a pen with, licking his teeth in a feral carnality.
I continue my stare into the distance. Let the vermin think me to be dead.
In my imaginings, I'm more alive than any wretch deserves to bear witness to. Smoke pours from my nostrils, flames roar from my throat, my wings spread high across the moon.
xoXOXox
Life without Draco is dreadful. I feel the pain of his absence in every spare moment. The space between breaths writes his name in blood across my heart again and again. The lonely times dig holes into my soft spaces with a merciless sharpness. I kiss the handle of his wand every night before I cry myself to sleep, dreaming one day he will hold it again.
During the day I'm smothered by endless stacks of looming paperwork, suffocated by responsibilities, strangled by red tape. I have to come up with the money to pay the fines, which means taking ownership of my old home and all of the possessions in it to sell. I climb the mountains of flowery language day by day to prove over and over again that I am who I say I am. It takes even longer than it usually would since I can't have the Ministry scan my stolen wand. I'll have to get a proper one as soon as Ollivander reopens his shop. Eventually, I find a salesperson and put all of our old possessions on the market at once for a fraction of what they're worth. I just want it to be over with. I can't bear to look at the life I once had and hope to see its reflection ever again.
This is home now, Mrs Tonks house. I conjure all of our food to save her the trouble of buying it, and Mimsy works here in exchange for a pantry of her own. I take care of the baby sometimes when Professor Lupin and Mrs Tonks are at work, and we all pitch in together to make sure the household runs smoothly. I suppose this must be what it's like to live with family, an auntie and a mum, an uncle and a tiny cousin. It's a strange sort of kinship, but I like it. There is a comfortable clamour ever present in the house. The smell of cooked food floats up at regular intervals. Someone is always available to chat or to sit in silence together.
Narcissa holds up so much better than I do. I'm sure having a Death Eater husband for so many years kept her wits honed at dealing with this sort of thing. The very day Draco was arrested she began owling old Malfoy barristers, promising all of the gold in the Black vaults to bring her baby boy back home to us. I'm not sure how much she has left to pay them, but I gather it isn't a lot considering the strained looks of worry shared between her and Mrs Tonks when the conversation is brought up.
A brilliant tawny hawk flies in one day, pecking gingerly at the outer entrance to my room. Our room. Draco still lives here, he's just on an involuntary holiday in the bowels of hell. I open the window as the bird lifts its beak. I swear he's sneering down on me through his golden eyes.
"Come visit, Bellasima," is all that's written on the letter.
I show it to Narcissa because I don't have the energy to figure out what Blaise could want with me while Draco is incarcerated. She says he's probably offering to get me away from Britain and the reporters that will be breathing down my neck soon. I'm not sure how she deduced so much from three words, but then again that's why I'm not a Slytherin.
I suppose I'm not a Ravenclaw anymore, either. The school is in tatters and I have no illusions of returning to complete my N.E.W.T.s in the fall. It will be a miracle if I can hold onto my sanity that long. I'll go back to finish them eventually, but I'm not in any rush with the plethora of problems I need to solve outside of academia right now. I have to trust the DA and volunteers will get back to fixing Hogwarts after they get the pieces of their own lives back together.
Dad isn't getting any better. I've been limiting my visits as it seems to hurt me more each time. He always calls me Lucius and swears he's hungry as soon as he hears Professor Snape. I suppose I should be calling Professor Snape Godfather now, but that seems all too ominous a title for a person of his character. When I'm scared all of this is going to turn out wrong, I put on the cloak he let me keep. For some strange reason, it helps me be a bit more okay for a little while. I keep forgetting to ask him for the enchantment he keeps on his robes, the one that makes everything feel alright again.
It's on one of the days when I'm enjoying the billowy black fabric that I decide to pay a visit to Harry and Hermione. I haven't talked to them in ages with all that's going on. In the meantime, the walls have grown three sizes too small as the endless sounds of Teddy crying and Mimsy doing dishes is starting to poke holes in my concentration. Getting out of the house might clear my mind, at least enough to fill it with more thoughts about how to get my Draco back.
I arrive at Number 13 Grimmauld Place on a warm afternoon with a basket full of assorted biscuits wrapped in a yellow checkered cloth. Hermione meets me at the door with a tight hug around her newly round belly. She tells me all about Ron and Harry's plans to test out of their N.E.W.T.s to enlist in the auror academy together, as well as her lack of progress on reversing her parents' memory loss. We walk around Grimmauld for a while as she shows me where the nursery will be and how she plans to expand the library. I don't have the heart to tell her this home is infested with wrackspurts, so I just cast little repelling charms everywhere we walk. She offers me tea as we sit down on the sofa to share the biscuits while we wait for Harry to get back.
"I have no idea what's taking him so long. I only sent him out for bread and milk," she tells me with irritation.
I know what's keeping him. He's probably forgotten six times already what he went out for and picked up ten other things he didn't need.
"I'm sure he'll be along soon," I encourage.
Harry appears as if he's been summoned, carrying eight sacks of groceries, three of them containing different varieties of milk and bread.
"I forgot to ask if you wanted almond or soy, so I got both, and wheat and white and we were out of crisps so…"
"Thanks, love," Hermione says, standing to her feet to place a kiss on his forehead. I'm happy to see Harry has taken my advice to heart.
"Oh! Luna!" he exclaims as he realizes I'm here, dropping the sacks to the ground as he rushes to greet me in a hug. "I'm… I'm sorry I haven't owled. It's just been a lot with us preparing for the baby… and you know, have to keep them fed and all that…"
"It's fine, Harry," I reassure him, brushing his hair out of his eyes and casting a cleaning charm on his forever dirty glasses. "I'm glad you have priorities to keep you busy."
"Where's Draco?" he asks, looking around as if my husband will pop out from behind a corner to spook him.
Hermione curses under her breath.
"I'm so sorry, Luna! I've been rattling on about the baby and didn't even think to ask…"
I cut her off as the violent news I've been carrying for so long decides to bound from my lips.
"He's in a holding cell in Azkaban. They've been questioning him for four weeks."
"Four weeks?!" they yell simultaneously.
I forgot how much I missed their moments of Gryffindor outrage.
I answer a slew of questions about who took him and why; nodding along as they shout about the injustice of it. Towards the end, when tears are starting to sprinkle in my eyes, Harry straightens his back and grabs his cloak off the hook, Hermione following suit right behind.
"Come on, we have to set this right. We have a ferret to free."
xoXOXox
I'm shuffled along a tight, blinding corridor with my wrists and ankles shackled obscenely. I'm tossed like rubbish into the purposely ill-fitting chair as a charm links my chains to the table. Mother's barrister, Annyxxia Opedia, has summoned me prior to our scheduled weekly briefing. I remember her from Father's endless correspondence cancelling her contract after being betrothed to Percival Weasley. That was another of Father's insipid decisions that surely has haunted his legacy.
Luckily, Mother doesn't base her employment on such inconsequential matters as blood-status and marital contracts. Annyxxia the best money can buy, and surely she's bathing in galleons from this pursuit. She comes leagues more prepared than the general gold-mongering flatterers my father employed. Her cunning and tenacity is unmatched by those who deign to flatter themselves with the title of her peers. She knows every leaky crevice in the ancient laws and exploits them with a mastery only years of study and a whip-sharp mind can extract. Still, I expect the same deficient news: "We're doing our best, be patient, there will be a way out eventually."
The petite witch glides in unceremoniously, her majestically dark hair and eyes glowing radiantly with a smirk of unprecedented victory.
"We've just received new evidence in your case, Mr Granger," she purrs, "I could tell you about it, but I think it would be more satisfying to watch."
She pulls a travel Pensieve from her rollaway trunk, expanding it on the stone table before us. The silver liquid flows like a celebratory bottle of champagne into the vessel.
As I dip my head into the swirling fog I'm thrown back into one of my worst memories - this time from a curious angle. Instead of seething through phoenix flames, I'm standing below the deck to the Astronomy Tower waiting to see the cloudless night erupt in a morbid flash of green.
"Do it, Draco…" is hissed in a voice that haunts my nightmares.
"I'm sorry, Draco," is whispered in a husky tone, but not at the point I remember.
One elaborately clad foot slips backwards off the platform, falling into the emptiness before my spell connects.
I'm back in the dialogue room before the carnage happens - before I stand to view the Headmaster's shattered limbs thirty floors below.
Ms Opedia speaks in the triumphant tone of the cat who has a bird by the throat, her menace beautifully illustrating the unmitigated demise of her foes -
"Now, as you so evidently saw, Mr Granger, Mr Dumbledore committed suicide. Also, since you clearly heard your notorious late aunt threaten you, ostensibly under the penalty of torture and death, it is unquestioned that you were under extreme duress to fire the spell which ultimately did not end Mr Dumbledore's life. I dare say if we can get your trial expedited you will be home to your family by the end of the week with a hefty amount of reparations if I have any say in the matter, which I most certainly will."
I'm stuck stupid at the mercy of her brilliance, choked by the hope begging to release itself from my fickle throat. Has she tampered with the memory? Could this all be an elaborate plot to let me loose of this cage only to worry for the rest of my life that my freedom hinges on a lie?
I ask the question that will seal my destiny - be it one of looking over my shoulder as my relentless Fates stalk and goad me, or one that will truly set me free -
"Who provided this memory?"
The barrister bares her teeth in the most ferocious imitation of a smile, one that lights her eyes with the predaceous glee of a successful conquest.
"Harry Potter,"
For the first time in the past month, my breath flows in freely. If there is one human in the world who is incapable of lying proficiently, it's the Saviour of Wizardkind and Pain in my Arse himself. I let down my occlumency shields methodically, allowing my forehead to smash into my arms as I sob into the grey-on-grey tatters of this wretched uniform.
The barrister takes my sweat-soaked, trembling hands in hers.
"I promise everything is going to be okay, Mr Granger. More than okay. I'm going to ensure you get home to your wife and mother without so much as the taste of this place on your breath."
I nod along with murmured whimpers escaping my shaking ribs.
xoXOXox
Everything is going according to plan. We have conjured white roses filling the house with their soft fragrance, hot apple streusel and vanilla bean ice cream on the expanded table. All of our friends and family are gathered around with waiting hugs and rose gold bottles of champagne. I've stashed a bottle of Firewhiskey that Blaise imported for me just for this occasion, and Hermione is on standby with one of the strongest Oblivation charms known to Wizardry.
I've made myself a brilliant silver gown which Professor Snape has charmed with all of his billowing prowess. It hugs me perfectly underneath the black cloak, and I'm absolutely certain Draco will appreciate the gesture. A soft pinkish-gold frames my eyes and jingles with the delicate chains I have draped around my feet and wrists. I'm storm clouds and rain drops, windstorms and sunshine creating a blessed glowing lining. I want him to remember the sky in all of its glory when he sees me.
"Come, it's time," Narcissa instructs, taking my hand in hers.
"Ready," I reply with a smile.
"Aren't you going to wear any shoes?" she asks with an arch of her thin black brow.
"No. They would get in the way of running to greet Draco."
She accepts this answer and we apparate away. We are met by a fragile boat on the shores of the tumultuous North Sea, a shabby wooden vessel carrying released persons to the rocky shore. The smell of salt water on the breeze sings of freedom, the wet wind kissing my face with the promise of a returned life.
I see him, a tuft of silver hair above a pallid face stained with the turmoil of abuse. His muscles are lined with tension, but he smiles nonetheless. His face breaks open in a burst of glowing sun when our eyes meet, and he jumps over the side of the boat into the shallow water.
I take off at a sprint towards him, the cushioning charm beneath my feet making the shards of seashells feel like smooth pebbles beneath my soles. The speed of the wind pushes me along, whipping back my hair and billowing through my cloak as I rush towards my dreams.
We come colliding into each other, cold seawater and sharp rocks and turgid pain all blissfully melting away against the warmth of our bodies together.
I strip off the cloak to wrap around his trembling shoulders. He's a blizzard of colossal proportions as it resizes to fit his taller frame. He could be commander of the winds themselves as the waves crash and war behind him, conquer of the very air I breathe.
"I missed you… so much…" he mumbles between gasps of air as he plows his lips against mine again and again.
"Same," I murmur grazing my teeth along my favorite spot.
He runs his hand up the silk line of my waist, sending a cleansing warmth where the cold air batters my skin. I tangle my fingers in his greasy hair, closing him against me to never be separated again.
"Pardon me," Narcissa states primly, stepping alongside us to pull her son into her arms. "We do have guests awaiting our return and a celebration to attend to."
I grab onto her shoulder to be whisked away home.
xoXOXox