September 13, 1996
Draco Malfoy was tense and soaking wet when he returned to the dungeons. Every muscle in his body ached from the weight of the secret on his chest, a secret so cruel he felt as if he had already lost himself trying to forget. He had already lost himself. Lost everything, really. But Hermione Granger, she'd made him forget.
She'd made him relax, if only for an hour. It had been the worst experience of his life, and likely the best of hers. And he felt, in the bottom of his soul, empty. Wonderfully empty and horribly hopeful. Hopeful that somehow, he'd succeeded without even trying. Hopeful for a future he had already lost sight of. Just hopeful.
Hope was a poison. And all poisons had an antidote.
"That's enough Draco! You're on your second bottle," Blaise Zabini reached for the firewhiskey in Draco's hands, but the blonde yanked it back, sloshing droplets of the putrid liquid onto himself in the process.
"She moaned. Moaned, Blaise." Draco slurred. Her noises– she had purred. She purred like– like a bloody feline, she did. Like a whore.
"What are you lot on about?" Theodore Nott sat upright in his bed, curly hair askew. He scanned the dimly lit room until his eyes fell upon Draco. They widened.
"You managed to sleep through the worst of it, bloody bear." Zabini groaned, running a hand over the silk of that strange muggle cloth always wrapped around his head. A 'durag' Draco thought he'd heard him call it. The boy stomped back to his own bed. "Malfoy's been crying over pussy for the past three hours."
Malfoy wanted to gag, to choke, but he could only manage a sob. Pussy— what a vile word. Cunts. His mind drifted to cunts. Yes Granger, I can feel your cunt, he'd said. What had she said?
"Not always a man and- and- and a woman, Malfoy. Not always a bloody—" He threw his head back and chugged half the alcohol in his bottle.
"Did he get into Pansy's stash? The rubbish we hid?" Theo asked Blaise. The darker boy shook his head. "Malfoy. Malfoy, look at me." Theo raised his voice. Draco snapped his head towards the brunette. "What— look at me— what did you take?"
"Nothing— nothing." Draco gripped the firewhiskey in his hands. Held on for dear life. Antidote. "Th— this. Yeah. This." He held the bottle up weakly. Cheers.
Blaise and Theo exchanged worried glances. Draco scowled. They could take their worries and shove them up their bloody arseholes, for all he cared.
"It's two in the morning, Drake, go the fuck to bed." Theo sighed. He slammed his head back into his pillow. Drake. Draco hated that name, so inevitably, that's what his mates called him. Names.
She'd said his name. His first name.
"My name— My name sounds good in your mouth." Draco choked. "Her mouth. My name— she said my name, Thee. She said my bloody—"
"Salazar, Blaise. Shut him up!" Shouted Adrian Pucey, their fourth roommate, who had been holding his pillow over his face in what looked like an attempt to suffocate himself.
"Let him have this one, Pucey. He'll pass out soon. He's plastered already." Blaise eyed Draco with pity. Pity.
I pity you. The mudblood. She pitied him? With her filthy hands, and her bushy hair. Malfoy chuckled maniacally. She didn't seem to pity him much when he was knuckles-deep inside her core. Didn't fight. No, she loved it, he knew from her thoughts. Her jumbled, filthy, impure thoughts. Bloody witch. Not such a prude now, are you Granger?
You are not that dense. You can't be. And if you are, I pity you. How dare she speak to him like that— like a child? Like he was beneath her. How dare she tell him what he was, what he should or shouldn't believe. Draco's tears burned hot. "I pity you, you fucking—" He snarled aloud at the image of her in his mind.
"Silencio." Adrian screamed. Draco moved his lips but no sound would come out. He glared at Pucey— the half-blooded git. But the boy paid him no mind, choosing instead to roll over and yank the emerald green comforter over his large head.
The silence was deafening. Draco's thoughts festered without the stimulation of his own voice to keep him anchored. He slammed his fists on the bed in protest but Theo and Blaise just stared. Let me talk, damn it! His chest rose and fell as he sucked in air like each breath would be his last. When would he take his last? When would she take her last? Had she already?
Mum...
Draco's face burned red hot with rage. At the mudblood, at his father, at Adrian for silencing him and at Blaise and Theo for simply sitting there. He was angry at himself, too. At what he had to do. His heart— it felt like his heart was collapsing. Darkness, sweet, sweet darkness clouded his vision. And he was so, so hot. He was boiling inside his own skin.
He had been burning from within since before the detention, since he'd stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express. But that had been a simmer. The boiling began while he touched that bloody mudblood. He wondered if he had contracted a disease from her lips, her fluids. He hoped he had, and that it was as muggle of a disease he could get. Something the healers couldn't cure; something to kill him. He hoped he was dying, hoped he was fading, but the thought of death brought more panic to the surface. He couldn't die. He had to stay. For Mother. For Father. He looked around the room at his mates. For them, too.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Couldn't speak. Draco Malfoy was helpless. He'd grown rather accustomed to the feeling.
Pansy was there before he even twisted the ring on his left hand. Before he even called out to her. At the door, he could sense her. He stilled. Silence. Horrible silence. But then there came her knock, her signature knock. Two taps. Silence. Two subtle taps. He wanted to call out to her, verbally. He wanted to hear her answer. He wanted to watch his mates crane their necks at the sound of her voice. To acknowledge her, so that he knew she was real. Was she real?
Blaise was the one to let her in. "He's in a fit, P. I don't know what else to do."
Had Zabini summoned her? Draco wanted to thank him, but his voice was still silenced. He reminded himself to curse Adrian in his sleep as soon as possible.
Pansy nodded curtly at Blaise and turned towards Draco. Her eyes were soft, bloodshot, but kind. He wondered if he was to look, whether her pupils would be dilated— whether antidote was coursing through her veins too.
Draco. She didn't move. He wanted her to move. To show him that clocks were still ticking and the bloody planet was still spinning. Motion, motion was good. Motion was concrete. Undeniable. Real.
Pans, I did it. He wanted to heave as he pushed the words into her mind. Like he had with Granger. I didn't mean to. I didn't want to. I...
She knew. She always knew. And then she was there at his bed, inches away. There. He reached out to her helplessly and she cooed aloud, only for him to hear. He saw her grip her wand. "Sonorus."
"Pansy," was all he could croak out before another wave of scalding tears spilled from his eyes. He choked on the beginning of a word, and gave up on the rest.
Theo and Blaise were watching, he could feel their eyes shift from him to the girl in front of him, then back to him. They understood, if only to an extent, that only Pansy could help. They knew, because they felt it too. Only Pansy could help.
Pansy climbed onto his mattress and filled the space beside him. He felt it barely shift her weight– she'd grown so skinny. Barely a feather, now. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face to her chest. It's okay. You're okay. Her voice boomed in his mind.
He sobbed against the fabric of her nightshirt. It was cotton. Granger's knickers had been cotton. He bawled even harder. I'm not, Pans. I'm not! You don't know. You don't understand, I–
She shushed him because she did know. She could feel it, like he could feel her. She knew. She always knew, like she knew now to speak aloud like he so desperately needed her to. "Not now. But you will be, Draco. You will." Her voice was severe. Comfortably harsh. She gripped the sides of his head and forced him to face her. Her hands were cold– soothing. Her eyes were warm. They were that bright emerald green. Like always. Emerald green: Pansy.
She was real. He softened. She was real.
Show me, she breathed, her eyes never leaving his.
So he relived it, for her. Every bloody minute of it, from the toad's eye to the kitchen floors and that damned sponge. How easy it had been to set Potter's mudblood off with a mistake as elementary as adding too much of an explosive ingredient to her precious burn paste. And how Snape had inspected him knowingly– how a failed potion had suddenly become worthy of a two hour detention.
He could feel Pansy standing with him in the memory, watching as he prepared for the task. Watching as he had skipped dinner to ensure he would have nothing in his stomach to expel once it was happening. Then it was happening. All it took was a few complaints and a soapy floor, and Granger took the bait. Fought him. But her words stung. He didn't think they would sting. He'd put his lips on hers. A test. She didn't reciprocate. Then 'I'm never wrong,' and they were connected once more. She'd failed.
Pansy's arms tightened around his torso in the present, and he couldn't show her more. Didn't want her to see Granger in the positions he'd put her in. The counter. No. Pansy shouldn't have to see that. He shut her out and slammed his doors, then pushed the memory so far back he hoped it wouldn't resurface.
But it bounced like a quaffle off the walls of his mind. The sounds, the skin, the bitter taste on his tongue as he told Granger what he wanted her to hear– played his role. The way he broke at the look in her eyes. The need. The desire. The way she gripped his shoulders, digging her nails in as if she hoped to leave marks. He wondered if she'd left marks. And the feeling of her tongue in his mouth. The feeling of his skin crawling and his blood rushing at the same time. Of his ancestors rolling in their graves as he pushed her against that wall. She was lukewarm to the touch. But her insides had been on fire. On fire like him.
It was the mudblood's mind that had unnerved him most— sent him scrambling so far from the plan he'd established. The feeling of being inside her brain was the worst. It was intimate. She had let him in— had opened her mind to him before he had the chance to rap on its door. It had been so easy. She had caved under his touch. Blushed under his stare. She was weak. Had no training in occlumency, not even of the natural kind. It was almost as if she wanted him in. Had he known how easy it would be, he would've skipped the fight and simply backed her into that damned wall the moment Snape left them alone.
But when he was inside of her, mentally, he couldn't come out. He dove into her depths with no rope, no ladder, no boat to use to return to shore. Hermione Granger's mind was like a novel, a long and tedious novel. He was so busy reading he had forgotten what he was searching for. All of his world faded away and it had only been him and her. It was almost comforting. His muscles had loosened.
At the forefront of her mind were pages of her childhood, like she had organized her thoughts into a chronological autobiography. He had skimmed through a school full of little muggle children. Of a girl named Candace who pushed Granger down the stairs. He felt her rage, pent up rage at the muggle girl in her story. He shared the sentiment. Then he read of her parents, who touched teeth for a living. How barbaric. Her parents had tried to fix her teeth after Candace knocked them out when she was nine. He thought they'd done a horrible job, at least the first time. He'd trailed his tongue over her canines and wondered if it was Candace again who caused them to be fixed a second time. He was years away from that page, though.
Between every page, he could hear as she thought of him. As he touched her, she thought of him. And she tried her very best not to. And it made his legs tremble. he tried his very best to hurt her, to make her tell him to stop. But it had only made her think of him more. And then he thought of her too. And she heard him. She could hear him, like Pansy could. Like Mother could.. How had she heard him?
Draco. You did what you must. Pansy's voice snapped him out of his daze.
She didn't know how wrong she was. She would know if she saw the way he brought the mudblood to her edge, watched her squirm, heard her scream. But no one, not even Pansy, could ever see the rest of this night. His goal was to distract the girl by any means necessary. But he'd continued. He'd let Granger finish. He had given her what she desired. He had done to her exactly what she wanted him to. And he'd enjoyed it, because the mudblood was just so damn distracting.
No, Pans. I did so much more. I–
She shook her head. "You're okay, Draco. It's okay." She pulled him towards his pillow so that they were laying flat, side by side. She hummed and stroked his hair, like his mother used to. But now, only Pansy did that. Only Pansy could help. Her hands were so cold, like burn paste. He was burning. He nuzzled into them. His heart was okay– it was becoming okay. She was breathing so he was breathing. They were in sync. He was becoming okay.
"Is he alright now?" Theo asked softly. Draco hadn't been sure his roommates would be awake, but they were. They always were.
"Yes, Theo. He's calm." Pansy whispered, still stroking Draco's hair.
"Goodnight, P. Night Drake." Blaise muttered groggily. One of the two boys yawned.
Draco could feel Pansy nod in response as his eyelids began to droop. Then he once again fell asleep in his best friend's arms with a belly full of whiskey. This was their new normal. This was their peace. Only Pansy knew the way the nightmares crept in the dark, only Pansy could make them go away. She had seen them too, the ones that didn't disappear whether or not you were waking– the ones that were real. This was the price they paid to be born two descendants of the Dark Lord's most loyal servants. This was the price to be a Death Eater's protégé.
...
September 14, 1996
When he awoke, the bed was cold and the room was silent. He was alone, with only a note from Pansy laying on his nightstand which read: Remember why. Don't lose sight of the end. For her. It was vague in case Theo, Blaise or Adrian found it. The less they knew, the better.
His head pounded. He found his stash of sobering potions and chugged it. It tasted like mud– like sludge sliding down his throat. Good.
The pounding in his head nearly drowned out the tapping that came from the window; he turned to see a large black owl with blue piercing eyes. His mother's. He rushed to open it, feeling a gust of warm air assault his face, which had already begun to burn red hot without Pansy's cold hands. "Mona," he greeted the owl with a scratch on the head as she hopped into his dorm. The letter in her beak was thin, barely just a scrap of parchment. It was dated from three days ago. He knew it had been intercepted– checked for treason.
Draco,
All is well. It would be lovely to taste a chocolate from Hogsmeade again, if you get the chance. The new elves don't bake sweets like the others. You know how much I love sweets.
Love,
Mummy
Draco wondered what she meant by 'new elves.' Had Topsy been freed since he'd returned to school? He hadn't bothered to learn the others' names, the kitchen elves and the cleaners but he still wondered their fate. He shivered and imagined the worst.
He quickly wrote a response, telling her he was enjoying sixth year– a lie– and promising a parcel of chocolate frogs and peppermint imps, her favorites. He didn't ask questions; he knew she couldn't answer.
Pansy was missing from breakfast. So was Adrian. Draco's appetite was gone but he still sat with Blaise and Theo and planned his day. Granger was sitting at the Gryffindor table with the Weasley girl, the pyromaniac and his boyfriend. He'd noticed Potter was predictably absent as well. It seemed as if there was animosity between the Golden Trio. The Weasel always attached to Granger's hip was at the far end of the table with his overbearing girl toy. They were fighting. He could use that.
Then it was time for him to slip into character once more. He dreaded it. She always showed up to Transfiguration early. So he did too. He used Theo's signature concealment charm to look as if he was reading his textbook, and turned to face the door, to watch for her. When she arrived he spoke in her mind. They fought. He teased her. She blushed.
Then Hermione Granger's voice sounded in his mind and he squeezed his lips tight to contain a gasp. With no training, she had mastered Legilimenic communication. She had hooked onto their impossible connection, tethered herself to the line he used to speak to her previously, and invaded his mind. Can you hear me?
Draco felt panic rise inside him, like it had the night before. She had no right to be in his mind. He wanted her out, wanted to ensure she could never intrude upon his thoughts again. He told her to sod off. She didn't. She kept running that mouth of hers, but the sound was something only he could hear. He used it, acted unbothered. But he wanted nothing more than to turn to Pansy and call for help.
Pansy never showed. Neither did Adrian.
Transfiguration was hard, but potions was harder, because he quickly realized that his plan was going awry. Theo was beginning to put two and two together, staring at a spot on her neck. He cursed himself for leaving marks on her skin– evidence. It was supposed to stay a secret. She knew that, and called to him for help, to create a distraction. He couldn't move. What if Theo knew?
He pushed himself into Granger's mind to watch, not caring if he left her with an aching head. "Poor bloke left with blue balls, Granger. Blue balls." Theo quipped.
Malfoy, your friend.
Draco burst into laughter, genuine laughter. Couldn't help himself. He felt relief. Maybe Theo didn't know. Maybe his secret was safe. He quickly covered for himself and told the class to sod off too.
But then Theo and Granger were too close. Too close. And then Theo said something about the kitchens and Draco knew that he had been discovered. He watched as Theo and the mudblood appeared to be working on their potion, but in her mind he was toying with her hair. He's going to fuck this up, Draco thought to himself. He's toying with me.
"Theo." He was standing behind them in an instant, hadn't even realized that his feet had brought him to their table until he was already there. Theo dropped the concealment charm. Draco shot him a warning glance. He saw Theo bite back a laugh. Git.
Then Theo stopped. And Malfoy was relieved, but then the Weasel showed up and mucked it all up– punched his best mate. Draco wanted to sock him in the stomach until he spit up blood. Wanted to curse the ginger and hear him scream. His job was to protect Theo. And Blaise. And Adrian and Pansy. The poor little blood traitor had laid his hands on one of them, and Draco felt as if he'd just let all of them down. One was hurt, they all were hurt.
He cast a silent healing charm on Theo's cheek. He clenched his fists and held in the rage. Held back his violence. It would do him no good. He couldn't go back and change it.
Snape was there, and Draco pleaded with him silently. Couldn't speak into the legilimens' mind, but he knew that Snape knew. Snape knew of his mission, and he still put them in the kitchens. Put Weasel and Theo with him and Granger. Draco scowled.
When potions class was over he watched Granger storm off. He didn't bother following her. He'd done enough acting for the day. Instead, he stormed to the room of requirement, the one place he knew he could be alone. All he needed was something to hit, to curse, to blow into a million little pieces. He wanted to destroy something, to watch it break in his hands. In his head he built a mental image of what he needed from the room. A maze of glass. That would do it– even better if it was mirrors instead, so he could watch himself do it. See himself be the villain. See who he'd eventually become. What his enemies would see.
But someone was following him from the moment he left the dungeons. He could feel their eyes on him. They'd silenced their footsteps, but he sensed them there. He took the long way to give the appearance as if he was simply roaming the castle, not bothering to check behind him. He hoped they would sod off, but his shadow did not leave. He turned into an empty classroom.
Harry Potter walked into the door. "Should've known it'd be you, scarhead."
"Save the snide remarks, Malfoy. I don't care." Potter was livid, Draco could tell. "What were you doing with Hermione?"
"I had something to discuss with Nott. Granger was just there." Draco lied with a shrug.
"You stay away from her, understand? I know you're up to something, and I'll figure it out if it's the last thing I do." Harry warned. "If you hurt her–"
"Do you really think I would waste my time on a mudblood, Potter? Is that what you think of me?" Draco wanted so badly to retort something about how he wasn't a blood traitor but the silver ring around his finger burned. Two taps. Nothing. Two taps again. "Pansy." He muttered before rushing to the door.
"Where do you think you're going, Malfoy? Running away like you always do?" Potter blocked the exit. Malfoy was at least three inches taller than him, and about a thousand times more muscular, but he didn't have time for a brawl.
"Believe it or not, I have much more important matters to attend to than arguing with the bloody Chosen One about one of his little girlfriends." Draco hissed and pushed Potter out of the way. He didn't bother walking calmly. He ran the distance to the dungeons, wishing nothing more than to apparate to her. It felt like an eternity before he reached the Slytherin portrait.
"Pudicitiam," He felt like shouting. Purity. Pansy rarely used the ring. She thought it was stupid. She never needed help. Never asked. Thought she could solve everything on her own. But she'd used it, she'd summoned them. And Draco's heart was in his throat. He tugged at the portrait to open it quicker, and burst into the common room. It was empty, except for three people: Astoria, Pansy and Adrian. Adrian was sprawled on the floor.
"What happened?" He stormed towards them. But he knew. He could see the needles on the table next to them. Astoria's eyes were glazed over; Pansy's were bloodshot and dark. Pansy wasn't moving. Pansy? She didn't respond.
"He– He used too much. He–" Astoria cried. Her voice echoed off of the glass ceiling. The mermaids were gathered around the windows, looking in, shouting so loudly he could hear them through the barriers.
Theo was next to burst into the room, panting, out of breath. "Pansy– what–"
Draco snatched the syringes off the table and held them up for Theo to see. Astoria started bawling. Adrian and Pansy were silent. "Probably happened last night. Found where we hid her stash."
Theo's eyes turned to Adrian, who seemed to be reacting the worst to the drugs. Theo rushed to his side, pressing a finger to his pulse point. "You get Pansy, she probably won't let me touch her. Only you."
Draco nodded. He grabbed Pansy's hands, they were ice cold. PANSY? He cried, his voice failing him.
Draco. She turned her head so slowly towards him he barely noticed the movement.
Pansy why? Why would you do this? You told us you'd stop, you said–
"I can hear her s– screaming, Draco. I can– I can hear her– in here." She jabbed her finger into her temple, and winced at the pain. Draco pried her finger from her head, knowing she'd only hurt herself further. He could see the track marks on her right forearm. Her eyelids drooped.
Pansy, stay with me. Come on– come on–
He sensed commotion to his left. Adrian was awake, and struggling against Theo. "Don't touch me you bloody sissy! Don't–" He was always the angry one– when they used.
"Adrian, shut up." Theo flinched at the slur, but his arms held the boy down nonetheless. Pucey managed to break free from his hold, and threw a fist at the cheek that Ron Weasley hadn't punched. Draco's stomach lurched.
"Pansy, Pansy, look at me." He turned her head towards him. Like she'd done last night, for him. "I'm going to go get a potion, okay? Stay awake for me, I'll be right back."
"Don't leave, Draco. She's– She's screaming. She's–"
"She's okay. She's okay. You're okay." He echoed her own words to her. He cooed in her ear, holding her in his arms. His best friend. His bloody sister. His anchor. He hated this. He hated having to do this. Having to watch her fade and try to bring her back.
She struggled to swallow. He heard her mouth click dryly as she attempted to speak. Draco conjured a glass of water and forced her to drink it. He felt like hurling. How could she do this? Why? She had been doing so well, aside from the alcohol. She'd been recovering!
He picked her up and laid her on the leather couch. She curled into a ball. "Where the hell is Blaise?" He shouted. Astoria had been left unattended, but she seemed to be fine so far. They needed a third person.
Theo shrugged in a concerned manner, gripping Adrian's fists against his chest. "Adrian– Draco's going to get you a potion. You need to stay calm."
"I don't want a fucking potion! Let me– let me–" Adrian bellowed. The mermaids cried outside of the glass. Draco wanted to cast a sleeping charm on him, but knew it'd be too dangerous. They could be close to an overdose, but only Blaise knew the spell to detect their blood levels.
Draco ran up the stairs to his dorm. "Accio calming drought." The potion did not fly through the air. "Fuck!" He screamed. He had used the last of it last night. He rummaged through his nightstand drawers for a sobering potion. They only had two left.
He snatched up the vials and rushed back down the stairs. Pansy, I'm coming.
Draco, it's so very cold. I'm so cold.
When Draco reached the bottom of the stairs, Blaise was there with vials in hand. "Drake, I came as fast as I could. You used the last of the drought last night– I– I had to raid Snape's cupboard for these." He held up a handful of calming drought. "I couldn't find any sobering potion."
"I don't want a bloody potion, you twats! Let me go!" Adrian shouted.
Draco and Blaise rushed to the area the three drugged Slytherins were sitting. Pansy was asleep. Draco shook her. She wouldn't wake up. She was cold. He pulled the cap off his potion with his teeth and pried her lips open. He poured the potion down her throat and shut her mouth, hoping it would suffice. Praying to Salazar she wasn't–
No. He didn't even let himself think of that. He pulled her into his arms to warm her with his skin. "Pansy please!"
Blaise was talking calmly to Astoria. Theo was forcing half a sobering potion down Pucey's throat. But in this moment, it was only Draco and Pansy. Draco and his one anchor. He didn't know how to exist without her. He needed her to open her eyes and smile. To say something. To breathe.
Finally she gasped. Her eyelids shifted. "Draco?"
"Yes, Pans. I'm right here."
"Draco, why do you keep saving me?"
"Because I love you, Pansy– you know this. Pansy, you're– you're going to be okay. You have to be." Draco was sobbing now. Theo and Blaise stilled.
"After everything I've done?"
Draco's mind flashed. To his mother. To the Dark Lord. To Pansy– no. He didn't want to think of that. "Pansy, it doesn't matter."
"I can still hear her scream, Draco. I can still hear it. Her crying. Pleading."
Blaise and Theo did not know this story. They knew to an extent, but Pansy was going to air their secrets right here and now. Adrian knew of it, but hadn't witnessed it. He'd never spoken a word about it. None of them had. "Pansy, shhh. Just relax."
"Your mother– she," Pansy was sobbing too. "She–"
"Silencio!" Draco whispered, throat hoarse.
"Drake–" Theo rested his hand on the blonde's shoulder.
"Don't touch me!" He growled, holding Pansy protectively. She was sobbing silently.
Astoria puked in a bin Blaise had summoned. Adrian choked on the water Theo had conjured. They all exchanged glances, Draco could see– could feel their eyes on him. Only Pansy could help. Only Pansy could help. He brushed hair off of her sweaty face.
Only Pansy had cradled him that day. When they'd done it– when she'd done it. She let him sob into her lap, scream out in fury. Curse the Dark Lord's name in a silenced room far from the others. Only Pansy had helped. Only Pansy.
But Draco had done nothing that day. Nothing to ease her pain. But he should have held her in his arms and given her his forgiveness aloud as she had cried along with him. He'd heard her scream along with him and done nothing for her. As he held her in his arms now, he saw her concealment charm had lifted, and he stared at the black snake on her arm. The one she'd earned.
His anchor. She was broken too.
I'm so sorry, Pansy. You don't need to do this. Talk to me. I can– I can help.
Yes I do. I will do anything, Draco. Anything to drown out the pain.
...
They were late to detention, him and Theo. Draco was numb– barely heard Snape deduct fifty house points each for their tardiness. Couldn't meet the man's eyes. He didn't hold back when Weasley got violent. He was so sick of the ginger. Besides, he wanted nothing more than to break everything he touched. He had no energy to toy with Granger tonight. His mission could wait. He felt like a rock had hit him in the stomach. Theo cracked a sexual joke about Granger. They laughed weakly, too preoccupied to really mean it.
Are you okay? She'd asked the question like she cared. Like she actually thought about the possibility that he wasn't okay. Like she saw through him. He prayed she hadn't mastered legilimency yet and invaded his mind.
He just nodded.
It was unconvincing.