I was running, gripping the long white dress to avoid tripping. The shadowy hallways were very hard to navigate, much less see clearly with tears in ones eyes.
When I'd finished my part in the ghastly waltzing with Draco, I had barely pulled off excusing myself as exhausted to his family. Their masks were still floating across their faces as I had fumbled with my words, hoping I just appeared drunk instead of afraid. Once I had made it down enough stairs to disappear from the ballroom view, I had taken off running, kicking my shoes into the hallway without any regard.
I was on the first floor, running through the abandoned, freezing, moldy areas. I searched for a door that seemed familiar, the one that led to Draco's grandmother's room where I had slept before. There was no chance that I would willingly sleep upstairs in his room after being face to face with him in that mask. He hadn't even objected to my escape from the party, just watched me leave through the double doors from where he was stood next to his family.
I tripped on my dress, catching myself on the wall. My hand missed a grumpy looking male portrait by mere inches and he snarled in shock. "Apologies," I whispered to him, and kept going. I was now dizzy beyond belief, my breathing felt shallow and pathetic, as I dragged my hand along the papered wall. The hallway I was in was starting to look familiar as I reached the end. I blinked, rubbing the snot away from my nose from the crying. I decided to try the handle and test if I was at the right room.
The door swung inwards to a pitch black room. I pulled out my wand to cast lumos, but it didn't react. The wood felt dead in my hands as I shook it with dismay. My wand didn't work in the Manor - perhaps there was a charm to control visitor's use of magic. A true cage.
I was vaguely reminded that I had not lit a candle for the journey and would now be forced to sleep in a mysterious, pitch black room, filled with portraits glaring at me. Or even worse, I could be stepping into a room that was not the right one, housing god knows what. My toes were glued to the freezing floor as I stared into the abyss of the room, feeling the cool air pouring out against my face. The stench of must and neglect was rich and repugnant. What would be worse? Draco Malfoy - Death Eater extraordinaire, or the black hole in front of me? I decided to choose the room. I shuffled a toe forward across the doorway and stopped to listen, as though there would be any sound to listen for. Silence, except for the creaking and groaning of an ancient building in the winter night. I took another step, feeling my heart lurching as the darkness started to envelope me. After my third step, I reached a shaky hand out to prepare to grab the bed post and felt an odd spinning sensation. My breathing had given out to the panic attack and I fell back onto the wood - HARD.
My head collided with the ground in the exact spot it had smashed during Quidditch. The sound of my skull cracking was almost worse than the searing pain that immediately spread across my brain. I laid there in the pitch black, laughing like a mentally ill patient, finally giving into the insane breakdown that was a long time coming. I heard odd whispers in the room which should have been disturbing, but I had given up. It was probably the portraits laughing at me anyways.
My vision was trashed; even if light was spilling in from the doorway by a fraction I couldn't see it. I was busy laughing and crying, laying in the black bowls of the Malfoy Manor being digested, slowly losing consciousness. I felt at peace knowing I was as far away from the other inhabitants of the house as I could get. I fell deeper and deeper into the void, losing feeling of my limbs and my sense of time, once again.
Click. Click. Click.
I sat up in a bed, straight as an arrow, wincing from the pain in my head.
Click.
The grandfather clock, surely. I mused, rubbing my forehead absolutely astounded with myself that I had even made it into the bed at all. The last memory I had was myself slipping away while lying on the floor.
Click.
No, it couldn't be the grandfather clock, the intervals between the sounds were not equidistant. I felt fear and panic seeping back into my chest, and the tears returned instantly. The drapes around the bed were all drawn, but something was in the room with me, making the noise.
Click. Click.
I clapped a hand over my mouth as I quietly screamed, having definitely reached my limit of being able to handle scary concepts for the day. The sound stopped, and I heard the creature shuffling towards the bed. I backed myself up against the lavish headboard and shut my eyes, gripping a pillow, crying desperately.
The curtains ripped open and they sat on the bed.
"Madeleine, it's okay. It's just this...muggle quill, called a pen. See?" Draco's voice was quiet, and I opened one eye with a slit. He was holding out a cylindrical, thin object. He pushed the end of it. Click. I jumped.
"I couldn't sleep. Turns out chairs don't make great beds." He sighed, looking down at his lap, twirling the pen around. The awful mask was nowhere to be seen, instead he was in black sweatpants and a big grey hoodie. The hood was up over his head, only barely showing his pointy nose, golden bangs, and the sparkle of his eyes. He looked like a regular young man, not some murderous psychopath.
I didn't care, I backed up further to flatten my back completely. I tucked my legs close to myself, realizing for the first time that the room was brightened by the moon. It was his room, on the fourth floor with opened curtains and clean bedding. I reached for my wand in my dress but my dress had been rudely replaced with a nightgown.
His eyes dared to trail up my body, taking in the protective withdraw of my limbs, stopping on my shoulders, "I understand." His voice was tight and strained, "You think I didn't see this coming? You were always going to see me as a monster."
"You are," my voice was papery and dry. I smeared my hair against the head board and looked at him with sideways eyes, "You're dead to me."
He shook his head, looking away at the windows again. His hands jammed into the sweat pant pockets, "I assume this isn't one of those scenarios where we can talk it out." He seemed uncertain of how to look at or approach me, but the aching in his voice was compelling.
I peered around the room for my ballgown but it was still too dark to make out any colors and forms that well. My heart spasmed in my chest from his melancholy presence, and it occurred to me that he was actually trying to diffuse the situation. He was trying to work it out, as though he hadn't just admitted to being part of a murderous anarchist society.
I felt disgusted by him, and I had developed a real form of mistrust and hatred this time. The pain in my chest was unmissably heartbreak, and I closed my hand against my lips to prevent any whimpering sounds from emerging.
Hilda's advice rang through my ears, explaining how setting him up for emotional manipulation was my best chance at escaping. My heart throbbed but then again, he had just made that a whole lot easier by handing me a list of reasons to do it.
"How would we ever talk et out?" I whined, letting one of my legs slide and relax. It seemed like an impossible task.
He groaned in annoyance, "How should I know? You're my first relationship." He was sitting on the edge of the bed, bent towards the windows, elbows on his knees flipping around the pen. All I could see was the back of his hood and flicks of hair sticking out.
Relationship? How was that a relationship?
"Astoria? Pansy?" I asked in a huff.
"Just distractions," he said with a hint of amusement.
"Hmm, let's see. You are a murderer, Death Eater, threat to society, forcing me to marry you... Did I miss anyting?" I quipped, "You think dat what girls look for in a boyfriend?"
It was quiet, and my eyes followed the faint light that was the spinning miniature Earth on the desk. He shuffled close to me and gingerly laid his finger tips on my leg. "Not murderer," He whispered assuredly, eyes finally lifting up to mine. He looked like a lost dog begging to come inside the house during a thunderstorm.
"Yet," I spat, crossing my arms. The skin on my leg where his hand was brushing felt cold and upraised from the unwanted contact. His breathing was irregular and nervous as he traced small patterns against my calf, watching his own fingers move.
"Is that what you want? For me to promise never to let that happen?" He said in a whisper. His voice had an unsteady tone to it like the request was perhaps impossible to fill.
"I want you to let me out! I want de choice to stay or go!" I snapped, and reached down to slap his hand away hard, "Tell me, when is my wedding set for? Can my parents attend?"
He shifted pulling his knee up onto the bed in an 'A' shape so he was facing me and I suddenly felt trapped between the head board and his body. He bit his lip, his eyebrows knit together anxiously reaching for my hands but I buried them under my backside, sitting on them.
I heard him sigh heavily and pull the hood off of his head, his bright hair sticking up in straight spikes and messy waves. He ran his hands through it several times and then leaned on the bed with one palm into the mattress, studying my expression with a frown. The air around us infused with pine and smoke scent from his rapid movements.
Now that the hood was off I could see his features much more clearly in the moonlight. The look of impatience splashed across them was a testimony that he was winding up to his limit of questions before the bomb went off.
He cleared his throat, "That date isn't set. Lucius was just...bragging. He does want an answer on that soon, however. It's no more a choice for me than it is for you." His head was angled at me magnetized to my face, waiting, "The sooner you realize we're both trapped here, the better."
I watched his fingers pull at the bedding fabric habitually. He was always such a fidgety boy, never still it seemed.
"We are not de same," I stuck my nose up defiantly.
"We are," he pushed back, a hint of aggravation in his tone, "You never pay attention to what I say to you." He'd said it like I was a rude person who constantly forgot all of our conversations, but he was endlessly cryptic with me, giving me half answers and leaving me wondering what the hell was going on.
"Explain den," I blurted singularly.
He swallowed hard, shrugging, his eyes drifting around the rumpled sheets near my toes, "All of my life has been planned for me before I was even born. It's not a choice, nothing is. Never with Lucius," his face winced as if seeing painful memories in his mind's eye, "And our family...it's too late. The dark lord will kill us all for insubordination if we don't do exactly what he asks."
"Cowards," I raged under my breath.
His face was suddenly hostile, narrowing his eyes. The bomb wick had been lit. "Careful what you say next." His hand was twisted tightly into the bed, his other one bending the pen practically in half. I imagined him jamming the broken plastic into my jugular if I said another offensive word. It would at least be a quick ending.
I decided it would be wise to switch directions, "And... dis marriage?"
"Forced. Obviously," he said through gritted teeth. I noticed how black his eyes now looked in the dark of the room. He sent me a wicked smirk, "You honestly think I would've stayed a virgin for that long if it wasn't for that fucking mark? I tried to prevent this exact situation for as long as I could." I could feel him pulling away from his exterior again; the agitation from the personal questions was taking over and the bully was coming out defensively. And he wondered why our deeper conversations often left us detached from each other.
My mind shocked itself with the jealousy that bloomed with the statement. I supposed it was true; girl's had been throwing themselves at him for as long as I had known him, myself included. He'd probably been at his wits end trying to hold out the night we'd broken the seal. He'd been high as a kite, feeling that same euphoria, feeling the obvious sexual attraction between us. It wasn't really that shocking. I would almost feel better considering how easy the mistake would have been, if I didn't suddenly remember him claiming he did it on purpose.
"So you just... decided dat I was the one to spend de rest of your life with? Wit'out consulting me first? " I said accusatorially.
"I decided you were hot enough to fuck for the rest of my life, sure. I'm drawn to the most expensive things. You were highly valuable - perfect genetics, high class, drop dead gorgeous. It was worth it just to see their faces when I claimed you so no one else could have a go." His eyes were merciless and empty, his lip curled in a sneer. It almost resembled Montague's face for a moment.
I tried to keep my voice strong, "Lies. What 'appended to you wanting dis marriage arrangement to be something real wit' me? You're not dat pathetic."
He flicked the pen across the room with two fingers, leaning forward towards me, "Oh? Am I not?" He winked at me like Montague had and my eyes widened. I drew my legs in closer.
I breathed heavily, holding my posture, "Why do you always do dis? One minute you are caring, crying, de next you are a snake."
He glanced around the room, taking in the morbid characteristics of the manor, "Guess I have a split personality. Not my problem."
I pranced forward and pushed him with both hands. He almost fell off of the bed, growling at me with an appalled expression, "Not very lady-like. You will recall I brought you to my own room out of generosity. Should I have just left you there to die on the floor downstairs? More comfortable for you?"
"A dirt grave would be more comfortable den being wit' you!" I yelled, getting up on my knees and balling up my fists. The short nightdress stopped at my thighs and I tried to banish how quickly his eyes darted there. He then briefly registered my fists and the coming onslaught, grabbing my wrists. He pushed me back onto the bed, now on top of me, the hood of his sweater hung around his face and he pushed me deep into the pillows.
"Enough! You always start these despicable quarrels." He roared at me, our noses touching. I could feel the heat from his body against mine. He was heavy and my wrists burned from being bound above my head, "You and I both need to sleep. If it will pacify your fear of rape, that's not my style, princess. Just... go to sleep." He let go of me, sitting back and pushing his hood off his head again. I laid there feeling defeated and tired. He laid next to me on top of the covers and draped an arm across his eyes, breathing raggedly. We were feet apart physically, but thousands of miles away in our minds.