Chapter 11
"AAAARGH!" Draco yelled as hard and as long as he could into the night.
He felt his throat going dry and sore immediately. The bottle he has been holding slipped from his sweaty palm and disappeared into the darkness below. Wind, so brutal at this height, tossed his hair into his eyes. Draco heard a faint ringing of glass as the bottle he has been drinking from smashed to pieces somewhere below. A couple of tears slipped from his wet cheek and, unlike the bottle, were swept away by the wind.
Draco could just imagine the shattered pieces of glass down below. He laughed drunkenly and bitterly. That's what was left of his life. That's it. Nothing more. Violette left for good. And he did understand her. They were both young and he blindly tied himself to her, as if she was his mother. She was the only one after the hospital. No one else was there. His passion and love for her turned into a habit and she, being the brilliant person she is, could see it. But she stayed there, for him, because he needed her. But it was time to leave because little Draco grew out of his old toys, but desperately clung to them. No one ever showed him new toys so he thought it was the end of the world now that these old ones were taken away.
The thought struck him and lingered. He laughed out loud and the wind carried away his laughter. His head spun from the alcohol and the height. He peered down into the night. Light from the streets shone like candles, illuminating the wet asphalt and rare dark dots of people, who either hurried home, glancing nervously about them due to the late hour, or those that swayed in the spotlights of the street lamps, being in the same condition Draco was now.
Muggles. He wasn't that much different from them. All he had was a stick that could do tricks and a handful of ancestry. Even that didn't matter much. And his differences would come to an absolute zero if he would just make a step now and turn himself into a bloody blond pancake. Nothing would matter then, would it? He'd still be scrubbed off from that wet pavement just the same as any muggle suicidal psycho.
Draco peered on the wet round glistering spotlights. His mouth dropped open. He was hallucinating. There was a little girl standing right in the middle of one and looking straight up with her icy blue diamonds of eyes into his clouded ones.
"What good would that do?" he heard someone whisper right in his left ear.
"What? Who's there?" he spun around as if trying to find a source of the voice, breaking the eye-contact with his hallucination down below.
There was no one else on the roof. And when he looked on the spot where the child was, there was no one there just as well. Draco staggered back, feeling him self go dizzy. He vomited hardly avoiding his own shoes. After a little while his knees gave in and he sat down heavily and closed his eyes.
No, he is not going to jump. He is going to go on with his life. He will find a link to his past. He must find Hermione. There was some connection between them apart form Hogwarts and the War he couldn't figure out yet.
A couple of days after Violette left, he tried calling them up. No one replied. On the third day though a young woman picked the phone up and said that she knew no one by the name of Granger. He called back a couple of times just to make sure it's the right number and in the end had to hang up on the woman who was screaming her guts out that he woke her up in the middle of the night, although in Draco's opinion one o'clock was a perfectly reasonable time.
Draco even gathered up enough courage to go back to that dreadful area where Jenny and Hermione lived and press the unhygienic elevator buttons to get to their apartment. The rude girl answered the door, chewing gum with in an absolutely vulgar way and spitting on the floor with a disgustingly creative sound. She was eyeing him in an x-ray way, as if undressing every inch of his body, as she informed him, that Mia and her daughter suddenly packed up a couple of days prior and sold her the flat for a funny price. Of course if Draco wanted he could surely come in and try waiting for them but Draco really was in a hurry, trying to free himself from the arm the horrible vulgar woman entwined in his elbow.
So there he was, sitting on the roof with his eyes closed trying to find a loophole on how to get in contact with Hermione Granger. If only he could remember something, a little detail that would lead him to her. And why was she avoiding him? Why did she leave? There was something important, he knew, there was something that slipped away from him… he had to remember…