Chapter 15

Draco couldn't bring himself to go to the ministry. They didn't need him, and if they did, they shouldn't be working there in the first place. He didn't go, because he needed something, and he wasn't sure what. He felt it in his gut. Something had to give.

There were, of course, potions that would calm him, potions that would take all the ill ease away, but they solved nothing. The problem was that he was out of balance and he didn't know how to recover.

Magic had seeped out of him and burned Flint's car. That wasn't a good state of affairs. It meant he was losing control, and he wasn't in a state to get it back again. Sitting by the lake had calmed him, but that wasn't realistic. Something had to change, but he didn't know what.

Going to work and dealing with diplomats wasn't where he needed to be right now. His impatience and mood would take over, and magic might seep out again. What could he do to exhaust this pent up energy inside him? Something physical. Quidditch had been the way to do it, but he wasn't a child anymore.

Back and forth, he paces along the windows of his room. His eyes settled on the bronze statue of one of this forebearers that stood in the courtyard below, and he opened the window and drew his wand. He let the magic flow into the statue, flow and flow until it grew red and then melted. Even so, he kept it up, until the stone the statue stood on glowed too.

Finally he faltered and released himself. All the energy was gone, as was his strength. This had certainly done the trick, for now. Maybe what he needed was a punching bag. Hermione entered his mind. Maybe that was what she represented to him, his punching bag. With her defiant stares and raised chin.

Flopping down on the bed, he stared at the ceiling. He didn't want her dead, but he couldn't exactly say what he wanted. He wanted her broken. Defeated. Because she wasn't defeated yet. Even after everything, she still hadn't given in. And now she had Flint wrapped around her little finger. Flint was probably handsomely rewarded for giving in, making him fuddled and docile. Flint was weak.

For a moment, images threatened of her, but he pushed them away. That was not where this would go. It was not what this was about. This was about… winning.

It served no purpose lying there in bed. This was not the answer to what he needed. What he needed was to find a way for get Flint to hand her over. It wasn't going to happen if this was a cockfight between him and Flint, so he had to change the game.

There was no rest for him here. The worst of his energy was gone, but rest wasn't what he needed either. Maybe he needed people he actually liked, which were few and far between. Blaise was good, even if he was rarely sober these days.

This time of day, he would have left his house, probably to go to one of the clubs. Draco apparated there, and it was just as busy as it was at night. Maybe father should be concerned how much the wizarding population drank. Blaise wasn't hard to find, he was gambling. Flint, wasn't there, however, and some muggle girl was dancing on the stage where Hermione had been the last time he'd come here.

"Blaise," Draco said as he sat down.

"Malfoy," Blaise said. His eyes weren't too slow, so he was moderately sober. "I didn't expect to see you here. Shouldn't you be running wizarding society?"

"I got bored."

Blaise chuckled, repeatedly turning his cards on end. "I'm out," he said to the other players and chucked his cards on the table. "What's happening?"

"Nothing is happening."

"No, you have that scheming look on your face."

Blaise had always had the ability to read him, but in this case, there was a distinct lack of a scheme. "I want to rip Flint's guts out."

"Well, that's healthy," Blaise said sarcastically. "You and Flint have always butted heads, but that is nothing new. Is this about Flint or about what he possesses?"

"No," Draco said, but there was that belligerent energy in him that told him he was lying. "Well, it's fair to say I have always butted heads with that particular possession too."

"So are you visiting your anger with one on the other?"

"I am annoyed with each for different reasons."

Someone was marching toward him. Flint. Oh, this just got interesting.

Flint drew his wand. "You fucking burned my car," he said and sent a burning hex his way. It grazed his shoulder. There was real heat in that hex. If it had struck him in the chest, he'd be in some serious pain right now.

Around them, things had stopped. People were watching. The muggle girl on the stage stood with large eyes. You should run now, girl, he thought. It's about to get messy.

Draco hit back. Maybe it was a good thing he'd siphoned his energy into that statue earlier, or there would be some real intent going into these. Marcus fell backward as it hit him. If this was a real fight, Draco would be advancing. Instead, he stood there as Marcus rose, shot and Draco deflected.

There was hatred in Marcus' eyes, and Draco didn't fully understand where it came from. Had Hermione place the imperio curse on him? "Are you sure you're yourself at the moment?" Draco asked.

Flint's face scrunched up in rage and he shot. Again Draco reflected, but he was getting bored of this. "Some things just don't go your way, Malfoy. This is one of them, so crawl back under whatever rock you live under these days."

"I do wonder where this bitterness comes from. It doesn't sound like you at all."

His assertions were just making Flint angrier, and he shot a sizzling hex at him, which Draco deflected, but this was enough. Draco shot back, a strong one that made Marcus step back as he deflected. Still, the hex, struck a curtain, which caught fire.

"Look, guys," Blaise said, trying to calm things, but Marcus fired again. Draco fired back, flinging him across the room.

This had Flint stepping up his game, and the hexes only got harsher. One of them snuck through and struck Draco on his side. His skin flared with pain and no doubt it would be a messy burn.

"Okay, enough," Blaise called, but he was ignored. They started firing in earnest now, sending hex after hex at each other. Whatever people hadn't left were doing so quickly. The place was on fire. Draco felt that burning energy build inside him and he was letting it flow again. And even Flint was starting to retreat. The truth was that Flint wasn't as good at this as Draco was, as experienced. He didn't have the raw anger needed to be truly powerful in his hexes. Maybe because he'd never truly feared for his life. That changed people. For most it made them scared. For Draco, it had made him much stronger.

The wall behind Flint disappeared, and the building would collapse on top of them if Draco didn't move it away. It crunched and groaned as it was ripped apart.

Flint didn't back down. He was worried and outskilled, but he didn't back down. Draco appreciated it. It was a stance he'd seen before. Defiance. Defiance before death. Even so, Draco wanted to wrap his hands around Flint's neck and squeeze until there was nothing left.

Blaise, true to his nature, was gone.

"She doesn't want you," Flint said leeringly.

"And I don't want her."

"Then why don't you just fuck off. Because this isn't about her, this is about you being denied, and like a child, you're having a tantrum."

"You're the one who came here firing. You caused this."

Rage distorted his face again and he fired. Draco expertly blocked and fired back. They were standing in the rubble of the building now.

But then a cool liquid sensation enveloped him, and lifted him off the ground. Draco knew this spell, and only his father could do it. As expected, the cool gave to pure, endless agony. He screamed and screamed, but nothing came out. He was frozen as embodied pain. It was unbearable, but it only a lasted a minute or so before the body responded to it by losing consciousness. A kindness designed into the body.

Blackness enveloped him and with it came the recession of the pain, starting at the edges and working in. Maybe this was what death felt like, and he had to admit it wasn't all that unwelcome. More worrying was that he didn't really care. Maybe he would join all the other who were already dead, or there was simply nothingness. Either would do.

Maybe this was the thing he felt was missing, that was needed. No anger, no pain, just sweet nothingness. As the darkness came closer he wondered if she'd be happy if he died. Surely she had wished it on him a thousand times.