Present Day:
Draco lay awake in bed, having eventually come in from the gardens at Malfoy Manor, his wife asleep on the other side of the bed. Some nights he would enjoy playing out the scenes of his past with Amelia in his head, taking comfort in the reassurance that it had been real and that he had known some form of happiness or contentment once in his life. Other nights though, he would fight off the feelings, bat away the ghost of her as she invaded his mind, the crippling agony of being apart for so long now too much to bear.
He didn't even know if she was alive.
But they had promised… promised that they wouldn't harm her. He had sworn that if they had hurt her, after the deal he made with them, that he would slaughter every last one of them.
November, 1997
Hours turned to days, which leaked into weeks and suddenly it was November. Draco dragged himself unwillingly around the castle to his classes, bleary eyed and foggy-brained. He barely slept. When he did sleep he would soon wake in a pool of sweat, his throat dry and his hands shaky. Being back in Hogwarts brought back too much pain from the previous school year, and he felt himself slipping further and further away from who he always thought he was. His fellow Slytherins had clearly noticed a change, and no one really bothered him anymore. He was sure that they probably interpreted his elusive solitude to be arrogance – an air of superiority; after all, half of them were still in awe that the Dark Lord had entrusted him such an important mission earlier that year. Whatever they felt about him, he didn't care anymore. Nothing seemed to matter. He moved through the days as if in a waking sleep.
The shape of Hogwarts had now completely changed. If Snape was intent in keeping a façade of normality at the beginning of the year, this had now been swiftly shattered. In fact, Snape seemed to not even be at Hogwarts half the time. Instead the Carrows had jurisdiction. Their lessons – Muggle Studies and the Dark Arts – exemplified the shift in the wizarding world and as the term wore on, less and less people protested their teachings. However, that didn't stop them from giving out detentions by the handful. Breathing too loudly, walking on the wrong side of the hallway, or 'ask your mudblood father, he'll tell you why' were all acceptable offences worthy of punishment. Punishment in the form of the cruciatus curse, usually.
As Head Boy and a verified Death Eater, Draco obviously managed to avoid these detentions, but that didn't make him feel any more on the side of the Death Eaters. If anything, watching wet-faced third years be wrenched from their breakfast for a morning detention twisted the knife of shame and anxiety further into his gut.
Amelia was sitting across the bench from Draco, measuring out the vials of potion they'd just made for Slughorn's class. It had taken them just over two hours to brew the potion for the assignment, in which time Draco had continuously felt Amelia's eyes on his head as they worked in silence. Just as Amelia screwed the cork onto the last vial, she looked up at him again, placing the vials carefully into her bag.
"I see you, by the way," she said unexpectedly, in a casual tone. Her face didn't look mocking, instead she wore an expression of pensive intrigue.
"Excuse me?"
"I see you. Sitting apart from the others at meal times, staring off during lessons. I saw the look in your eye while Carrow tortured that second year in the Great Hall."
Draco stopped what he was doing, his eyebrows creased, his fists balling under the desk.
"It was the same look I expect I had in my eye," Amelia finished, quite matter-of-factly. Her expression was plain now as she refused to look away from Draco.
"Careful, Collins," Draco hissed in a low voice. "You should watch –
"Who I'm talking to?" Amelia finished for him, her eyebrow cocking slightly.
"I could kill you for what you're even insinuating," Draco said louder, his voice trembling with rage.
"You won't though. And not because you're a 'coward'. Because you're not a killer."
Draco stood abruptly, sending one of the vials of potion to smash on the cold floor.
"How dare you." His lip curled dangerously as he wrapped his fist around his wand in his pocket. "You have no idea. No idea what you're trying to say. I'd learn to keep your mouth closed, Collins," he threatened, but he had never seen someone look less afraid than she looked in that moment, allowing Draco to stand over her, his rage spilling clumsily out.
"Okay – didn't mean to offend," was all she replied, giving a small shrug and buckling up her bag. "See you next week," she said with a small, knowing smile, before moving past a dumbfounded Draco and out the door without a backwards glance.
For the rest of the week Amelia's words hung in the back of Draco's mind. Every time he would sit to eat at the Slytherin table he'd see her across the room, watching him. Every time a student would look injured in the Great Hall, or was taken out of a class by a Carrow, he'd feel her scrutinising gaze on him. They would never speak during Potions class, and luckily for Draco, Slughorn was so nervous and tentative with everything and everyone that she had no reason to test his reactions to anything there. Even still, he could feel her gaze upon him and almost hear her thoughts.
If she could tell that Draco's mind was a mess – how many others had figured it out? Amycus Carrow had surely noticed his underlying reluctance towards the Dark Arts in lessons.
It had been three weeks since Amelia had confronted Draco, and three weeks since he'd attended their arranged Potions meeting. She hadn't brought this up with him, which suited him fine.
"Right – tomorrow I will need your papers on a plausible alternative cure for bat bites from each set of partners in the class. Our last assignment before Christmas!" Slughorn reminded the seventh year potions class as they all hitched their bags onto their backs and prepared to leave the classroom.
"Malfoy, you need to come tonight. I'm not doing this assignment by myself, and I'm definitely not failing the class just so you can avoid me," Amelia snapped before heading towards the door.
That evening Draco ate his dinner at the end of the Slytherin table, despite Pansy approaching him as she sat down and coyly asking him to sit by her. Admittedly, he admired her persistence when he showed so little interest in her, but the thought of listening to her and his fellow Slytherins snicker at the turmoil of the school, and animatedly discuss what they were hearing from their parents about the outside world gave him a sweeping sense of nausea.
Mealtime was subdued these days; students would eat with murmured conversation, a weary, worn out energy clouding the long tables. Occasionally, a couple of students would need comforting, and small huddles would congregate around a sniffling boy or girl. These events either coincided with detentions, or morbid reports from the Daily Prophet.
A booming laughter pierced the muted atmosphere. Theodore Nott, sat towards Draco's left, was throwing his head back in laughter as a small group of young looking Hufflepuff boys walked past.
"Thisby – isn't it?" Theodore said, a sly smile crawling across his face.
The Hufflepuff boys stopped briefly in their tracks, before nervously shuffling towards the door.
Theodore now rose from his seat. "I suggest you answer when spoken to, Thisby. That is your name – right?" His voice dripped with venom as he strolled around the table to land in front of the Hufflepuffs, who somehow looked even smaller than they did. A few heads turned to see the commotion.
"Y-yes," the boy said. Draco watched on as the colour drained from his face. His eyes already looked bleary and Draco tried to place the name… he was sure he had heard it already today.
"Read about your dad this morning. And your mum. Missing from their bed, eh? Your mother's a mudblood, is she not?" Theodore continued.
To his credit, Thisby's shoulders squared. "So what if she is?"
Theodore whistled through his teeth. "Golly – I do hope nothing's happened to them. Been hearing a lot about these mudbloods going missing without a trace, haven't we boys?" Theodore threw this line to his small audience of Slytherins, who all gave a small laugh. Draco sat stony faced, unable to stomach any more food, but even more unable to leave the table.
"Although… what can you expect when your mum's a filthy mudblood, parading through our world like she's one of us?" Theodore said, enjoying each syllable that fell from his lips.
Thisby launched himself towards Theodore, but his friends – who clearly knew where this was heading – caught him by the arms.
"It's not worth it, mate," Draco heard his friend hiss into his ear.
Thisby had gone completely red, his eyes now glassy but his fists balled and shaking by his side.
"Oi – Head Boy? You see this? Vicious little thing trying to take me out!" Theodore called across to Draco. It took him a moment to realise who he was talking to. Draco snapped out of his trance and frowned towards Theodore.
"Surely that's a detention with the Carrow's this evening, Malfoy?" Theodore called out.
Draco felt all the eyes around him turn to see his response. His mouth had gone dry though and he was sure if he tried to speak, nothing would come out.
He pressed shaking, clammy hands onto his legs. "Do what you want, Nott," he said, mustering enough energy to stop his voice from cracking.
Theodore rolled his eyes. "You know I'm not allowed to give detentions – not a Prefect, mate. C'mon, what's the point of being Head Boy without having some fun?"
Draco was sure he was going to pass out. He silently scolded the increasing number of heads turning to him. He stood from the table – Theodore rubbed his hands together with glee – and walked over to the scene. He looked Thisby – no more than a third year – in the eye and saw all of his fear and anguish reflected back at him. Like a mighty wave crashing over him, Draco wondered if it was his own Death Eater father who had taken Thisby's parents in the night from their own beds. The thought made him almost double over.
"Fine – twenty house points," Draco mumbled to the Hufflepuff boy, whose expression suddenly looked a mixture of relief and confusion. "And watch who you speak to next time, mudblood," he added for good measure, once again aware of the hungry eyes around the hall watching him.
He strode from the hall, willing his shaking legs to carry him out of the scene, without a backwards glance.
Draco closed the bathroom stall as he wrenched his tie away from his neck. He gulped in large, unsteady breaths. He slid down to the floor, feeling a familiar sting behind his eye as sweat began to glisten on his forehead and the walls started to collapse in around him. His uniform felt suddenly itchy and tight. He pulled his sweater over his head, feeling his body heat up under his clothes. He scrunched his hair in his fists, willing the image of what he'd just seen, the confused guilt, the displacement he felt, to just go away. He thought he might be sick, and momentarily hunched himself over the toilet bowl, spitting and spluttering. The Hufflepuff boy's mother and father would be dead now, Draco knew that. They'd have been killed almost instantly by the Death Eaters, by people Draco knew and had respected in the past. They might've even been killed in the house Draco had grown up in. He let angry, hot tears spill past his eyes as he screwed up his face, collapsing down next to the toilet and covering his face with his hands.
It must've been at least an hour that Draco sat, eventually catatonic, on the floor of the toilet cubicle. He glanced at his watch as he hugged his knees and saw that it was almost 9.30pm. Amelia would be waiting for him, the usual inquisitive, smug and knowing judgement on her face that she seemed to have reserved for him. He had felt her eyes on him as he'd rushed from the Great Hall, but even as he contemplated not going, his legs seemed to move of their own accord, and suddenly he was leaving the boys bathroom and walking purposefully down the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts.
"Congratulations, you're actually on time –
Amelia was cut off. Draco had moved quickly through the room to where Amelia was leaning against one of the work benches, and grabbed her face, pressing his lips hard against hers. He felt her shock as her body tensed against his, her hands hovering in mid-air, but as Draco snaked a strong hand to the back of her head, keeping his lips firmly against hers, he felt her hands timidly come to rest on his shoulders. Draco deepened the kiss, moving his other hand to hungrily grab her hip, but this movement made her recoil from him. She stumbled backwards, but kept her hands pressed against his shoulders.
"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed, her eyes wide and confused.
"I don't know," Draco breathed back, hardly able to catch his breath. All he knew was that he needed to feel something. Something that wasn't doom or emptiness or this damned guilt.
She regarded him cautiously for a moment, before pulling him back towards her, their bodies clumsily smashing against each other as their lips connected again, their hands hastily exploring each other. Draco leaned against her, pressing her into the work bench behind them, before hoisting her up to sit on the bench. Amelia obliged by wrapping her legs around Draco, allowing for him to run his hands across her thighs, her slender legs too inviting under his fingers. Draco felt her confidence grow as she linked her arms around his neck, pressing his lips harder against hers, her hands tangling roughly through his hair. It was hungry and clumsy and Draco felt his anxiety melt away under her confused and naïve touch.
"It's okay," she mumbled quietly in his ear, planting a small kiss on his neck as his hands continued to wander over her legs and hips. "It's okay, how you're feeling. It's good."
Draco stopped and pulled back. "What?"
Amelia cocked her head slightly, looking genuinely confused. She kept her arms linked around his neck and Draco suddenly felt trapped.
"I mean… these doubts you're having. These fears. It's okay."
An invisible barrier reconstructed itself inside of Draco at these words.
Draco frowned and took a step away from her. Her arms fell limply at her side. She adjusted her skirt to hide her legs, but kept her eyes on Draco. That look of disappointment was leaking back into her features.
"Fears?" Draco repeated tauntingly, allowing a smirk to wipe across his face.
Amelia frowned and hopped off the bench.
Draco chuckled before fixing his features into what he hoped looked threatening. He pointed a purposeful finger at her and noticed that he was shaking. "What have I told you about questioning me?" He hissed dangerously. He trained his eyes to stay on hers, willing them to avoid her lips.
He watched as Amelia's eyes glazed over and she pushed roughly past him and straight out the door, her hair bouncing angrily below her shoulders as she left him in the Potions room alone.
