A/N: I know that I don't need an author note for every chapter… But I just like saying hi to you all And thanks for waiting for the delayed release. I usually work at my full-time job from M-F, but I had to work the entire weekend this past weekend as well… So no writing time until today! More importantly, I am sorry for how short this chapter is. I have terrible writer's block right now. Everything until the end is planned, and we're getting there faster than I'd have imagined, but I can't seem to find the words today. So, I'll promise a longer chapter for next time to make up for it. Thank you for understanding!

Draco,

I am incredibly sorry for how certain things have unfolded. You need to believe me when I say that not all is as it seems. I made a mistake, but that doesn't change how much I have grown to care about you over the past few weeks. I wish that

The letter is sitting there waiting for me when I wake up, filling the room with her scent sticking to the parchment. I know that it's from her before I open it, and before deciding if it's worth opening. But I do, thanks to the moments before I'm fully awake, but I can barely make it a few lines before I've set it on fire. Back to old habits, I suppose.

The flames are proof that she's real. She had written to me, perhaps begging for forgiveness, when I was the one doing practically the same thing for acts that had nothing to do with her. Or maybe everything to do with her, considering her bloodline. My body goes limp when the reds and oranges fade as if she's disappeared from me all over again.

And then I go back to sleep.

An owl taps on the window the next morning. I want to tell it to bugger off. But it's not her familiar brand of parchment, which I can tell from the glass. It's from Mother.

I don't read it. And then I go back to sleep.

Tomsy walks back and forth in the small guest room, muttering sobs of self-blame under his breath. I hear him say her name, low and pained, and almost raise my head at it. I don't know if the plan is to yell at him or to ask him to say it again.

I go back to sleep, promising that next time I will get up. I can waste away due to my own mistakes, but I won't go down because of a stupid girl.

But what about the brightest girl…

He mutters her name again, this time mixed into the same sentence as my own, and it's the last thing I hear before my mind fades to black.

Somewhere in the darkness is a dream about her. It starts like things ended, filled with confusion and doubt. But then she's standing in front of the Wizengamot as the Chief Witch, reading out the list of crimes that I've been charged for. She goes far beyond the ones that awake Draco is charged with. Granger tells each one like a story, going into detail about the great pains that I've left on the wizarding world and on the families of the people that I've cursed or killed or even thought about killing. Each word is like a slur, and everybody in the room reacts as if I've committed the crimes in front of them in those very seconds. And then she laughs, quiet at first and then rising slowly until it's echoing around the room and coming from the lips of every witch and wizard there.

"How could you be so foolish as to think that the world would forgive you for this?" She says, closing the space between us. "Nobody could ever forgive you."

I wake up in the same way that I do whenever I've dreamt that I've fallen. My feet kick, terrified of the drop, and my back shoots up in a sweaty mess. It leaves me feeling alert, at least compared to the last few days lost in bed.

Tomsy appears moments after I snap my fingers, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and a croissant.

"Master Draco is awake!"

I don't say anything, but the croissant and coffee are gone in seconds. Tomsy is not.

"Does Master Draco be needing anything else? Any of the Daily Prophets or books or perhaps Tomsy could even make Master Draco…"

I cut him off and inquire about the weather instead. Apparently, it's meant to be a nice couple of days outside, filled with sunshine and the odd cloud. If Granger's presence in my life has done anything, then perhaps it can be how she reminded me what it is like to go outside or to fly on a broomstick. Yeah, that could be it. The rest can be erased.

My feet are taking me outside, beyond the gardens and the statues, straight to the shed filled with brooms. It's like I feel pulled toward something again for the first time in ages, and the excitement of flying is too booming to remind me about the last time I was here. I pick out a broom from somewhere in the middle of the stacks, not daring to look at the one that she chose and am in the air within minutes.

I fell in love with flying before I was supposed to. Like performing magic, flying wasn't exactly encouraged for children before they went to school. Our lessons in First Year should have been equal, filled with kids hopping on broomsticks for the first time together. But Father had gotten me a model charmed full of safety spells as early as my seventh birthday, and he had taught me how to maneuver the air in this very field. Playing Quidditch was a no-brainer, but it wasn't just about winning games. It was about being here, up in the air, where everything feels so far away except for the wind and the sound of the emptiness below. It also gave Father and me something to do together unless it was another scheme of his to start training me for a war right from the get-go when I was too young to know any better.

My flight today takes me around the manor, taking the time to pause at the top so that I can remind myself of the view and then rushing past windows and chimneys and hedges with the quickest speed that I have within me. My head feels empty throughout it all, but in a way that only flying can help with. It's only when I return to the field by the shed that I wonder if the magic of the manor will keep toying with me when I'm further away, like out here.

Sitting straight on the broom, dozens of feet up in the air with my own feet dangling to the side, appreciating the lightness, I let my mind wander off to thoughts of anything quiet. The lake, serene and surrounded by chilled air, comes into focus. The presence of Hogwarts looms behind me, promising safety and respect. My body still feels like it is above ground, even as my hands float to my sides and feel the calm air surrounding me, but even the presence of the broom between my legs can't ground me from the peace of occluding. Nothing else matters. The only thing that exists within my mind is the feeling that is with me at this very moment. And so I stay there, for what could be minutes or hours, floating above everything else.

And then something in the air catches my senses, pulling me back to my body abruptly and with such force that I slump over, knocking the weight on my broom too far forward and sending both the broomstick and my body plunging back down to the ground until I'm hitting it, hard and painfully, all at once. Was it the smell of her dancing across the grass and into my senses? Or a memory of being on the broom with her, feeling her pressed into me? The memory of it feels nice until I realise the pain is shooting through me, starting at my ankle and stinging through my bones like a jolt of electricity.

Tomsy appears in seconds, but I'm not sure if I've called for him or if he was already there, watching and waiting to be needed. He snaps his fingers, and the pain immediately stops. It's not like it was never there, and the skin on the lower half of my leg feels tender without even touching it, but the relief of it brings me back to my senses and reminds me where I am.

"Er, thank you, Tomsy," I say without thinking.

"Master Draco needs to be more safe while he isn't having his wand to protect him," he fusses, examining the rest of me while I lay my head back to look to the sky. "Master Draco should go and get some rest."

The idea of crawling back into bed, into the bed that isn't even mine, feels promising at first. But then I remember how much time I've spent there in the last days, filled with potions, and my stomach flips.

"I'll be fine, Tomsy."

He starts to protest, yelling something about needing to look after me, but eventually shuts himself up and allows me to use him as a crutch to stand back up. Merlin, I wish I had my wand back.

Tomsy stays with me until I've found an appropriate place to sit, back inside the manor and tucked behind a dining table. He brings the appropriate assortment of snacks and drinks, along with a copy of the Daily Prophet and some more mail that I've missed. The letter from Mother that I so rudely ignored is there waiting for me, too, and a brief shower of guilty thoughts from ignoring her rain over me until I open it.

Draco darling,

Thank you for continuing to send me things to read. I am quite curious about how the story will end, but I must admit that I don't feel as if I'm ready to read the end yet, nor for it to be over. Please lie to me and tell me that there are hundreds of pages left.

How are you doing? Has Tomsy been treating you well enough?

Love,

Mum

She is right. Crafted Creatures, and the pages I have been writing for her, are almost finished. She has one last chapter left to read, and then she will join the ranks of Granger and me in having finished it. I wonder what she will think of the disappointing ending and if she will appreciate it like Granger or find frustrations in it as I did. Maybe I should make up a new ending, penning words that never happened. She would never know the difference between the real thing and a happy ending, would she?

It would work to soften the blow of her learning about my new trial date. The change in schedule could send me to Azkaban far earlier than she would have expected. She deserves to know, I suppose. She might find out if she has any access to the Daily Prophet, or from any whispers she hears inside. But it seems too harsh to send through the post. Instead of grabbing parchment to send in response, I direct one elsewhere.

Valencia,

I don't know if this will ever be allowed, but can we find a way for me to visit my mother before the trial? Maybe the Ministry will see it as a consolation for moving up the trial and will allow it? Any other ways we can pull some strings, please try.

Draco Malfoy

The owl takes it away, and I can't help but wonder where it will find Valencia. Is she pouring over paperwork and plans for my trial? Or does she have a life outside of it all, filled with a lover and friends and maybe even a family, where my words will be a disturbance to her? Whatever state she is in when the letter returns doesn't matter for long, though, because a response comes back faster than I'd have expected.

Draco,

You owe me.

Be ready tomorrow at 9 a.m.

Valencia Collins

It doesn't hit me until I'm preparing for sleep, filled with excitement over the idea of seeing Mother again, that I realise I will be going back to Azkaban for it.