He didn't want her to go.
He'd been so close to asking Astoria to stay, to hold him, to keep the nightmares at bay.
But where would that leave him? Where would that leave her? Only full of false hope and expecting promises he couldn't even make, let alone keep. Though prone to anger and lashing out, Draco had never been impulsive. He'd never made rash decisions against his better judgement. Every move was always thought out, weighed up. And now the worry and anxiety of his father's predicament had settled, simmered, leaving an empty space where it had been. A space perfectly shaped for Tori.
He shut down that part of his brain once more, the weak part. He slammed his mental walls into place, resolving that he would have to just continue facing the nights alone. Maybe forever.
"Draco?" His mother knocked at the door. Shit.
"When did you get back?" he grumbled, letting her in.
Narcissa's face was more pinched than usual, her hair lacking its usual lustre.
"Just now," she said. "I thought I heard somebody else in here."
She was perceptive. Too perceptive, Draco thought, particularly where he was concerned.
"Check beneath my bed if you're worried," he said, lying down.
"I wondered if it might be the Greengrass girl," Narcissa pushed, scanning her eyes around the room as though she was, in fact, hiding. "She seemed nice."
"What do you want, mother?"
"I've told you, Draco. I'm worried about you."
"Well don't be!" Draco shot to his feet, steaming in anger. "You're worried about me? Why? Be more worried about your husband, putting us all in danger once again! How well did that turn out last time?"
His mother's face remained impassive. "What are you talking about?"
"As if you don't know." He shook his head. "He's spying for the ministry! Informing on death eaters!"
Narcissa didn't even blink. "Who told you this?"
"So it's true. And you knew. You've known this whole time."
Draco swore, now pacing his room, unable to even look at his mother. How could she be so stupid, so blind? How could she have so quickly forgotten the torments that continued to plague him?
"Draco. Listen to me."
"You know what they'll do to him," Malfoy continued to spew, releasing the aggression within him. "What they'll do to us. It's a miracle he hasn't been avenged as a traitor already, from the last war."
"Do you take your father for a fool?" Narcissa hissed. "Do you believe he is some dimwit, some ministry puppet?"
"Well, isn't he?"
"Of course not." She gulped. "You think after watching Severus Snape for seventeen years, your father knows nothing of double agency?"
Draco ignored the twinge of anguish he felt at the mention of Snape. "The ministry are telling people, mother. Parading it around. They're idiots, and they don't care about his safety at all."
"Your father has told every bloody death eater in Britain what the ministry are putting him up to," Narcissa said sternly. "Everyone. Everything. They are planning to use this to their advantage, leak the ministry false information. It's actually become a rather neat way of covering their own tracks."
"Then, who's side is he really on?" Draco muttered.
"I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Voldemort is dead, Draco. Death eaters are not what they once were."
Draco shook his head. "I've had enough. I'm not waiting here like some sitting duck, while one side or the other decide to have us all killed in the night."
"Your father is doing his best to mitigate that. As am I."
"Well, you've kept me in the dark this long. Perhaps I should stay uninvolved." Draco swallowed. "I'll move out of home."
"Don't be silly, Draco, you can't-
"Yes I can! Until this stops, until all this madness stops. I can't go through it again, mother." He trembled. "I can't. I won't survive any more, I…"
"This is your home," Narcissa urged. "You're safer here than anywhere."
"Here? In these walls, where he tortured? Murdered? Spilt innocent blood across the table, and now you expect me to eat dinner like it never happened? He's not dead, mother. In this house, he's still very much alive." Draco crossed the room and vanished his ornate dresser, sending it to Zabini's. He grabbed the owl's cage, and turned to Narcissa. "I'll be back at some stage for the rest of my stuff."
Narcissa's eyes didn't fill with tears, as he might expect. And with that observation, it dawned on him.
"You want me gone."
Narcissa shook her head. "I want you safe, Draco. I want to protect you."
It was permission. It was almost a blessing. Draco disapparated, hoping Blaise hadn't moved back in with his parents, that the bachelor pad was still running with an empty bedroom.
He should be so lucky.
"Look, mate," Blaise said at the door, running a hand through his hair. "You know you're my best mate. It's just that things have, uh, changed in the past few days."
Draco heard a girlish giggle come from inside the apartment.
"You're joking," he said, glaring at Blaise. "I thought she went back to Hogwarts?"
"Changed her mind," Zabini grinned. "Decided the minister's office isn't worth NEWT after all."
"So, what the fuck am I meant to do, then?" Draco asked.
Zabini hesitated. "Look, I'll check with her if you can stay for a while."
"Oh yeah, get permission from the lady of the house," Draco grumbled. "Wouldn't want to infringe on her personal space."
Zabini left him at the door. Feeling foolish, still clutching his owl and bag of clothes surely starting to crumple by now, Draco waited. He was an absolute embarrassment. A Malfoy, out of home. He was just starting to think of their family cottage in Wales, wondering if he could get used to the rain and funny language, when Zabini came back.
"Alright, you can have the spare room. But Flora's coming to stay for Christmas, so you'll need to be gone by then."
"Don't worry," Draco muttered. "I'll buy my own bloody place by then."
Zabini stood awkwardly in the door frame as Draco placed the owl's cage down, releasing him to hunt, and stuffed his clothes into the wardrobe already waiting in the bedroom. Malfoy glanced around, taking in the bare walls and boxes stacked in one corner.
"What happened, then?" Zabini asked.
Malfoy hesitated. He didn't feel comfortable talking with Hestia in the house — particularly as the place was so small, she'd never be out of earshot.
"Want to go for a pint?" Blaise asked, seemingly understanding.
The Leaky Cauldron rarely changed much. It was still dark, still slightly unhygienic, and still packed with witches and wizards. Draco ordered a firewhiskey, downed it, and ordered another before he'd even left the bar.
"You want to slow down, mate," Blaise muttered as they made their way to a table. "I'm not having you puking your guts up on my carpet."
"I'm not stupid," Draco snapped. "Hestia may not be able to handle her drink, but-
"Come on, then," Zabini cut him off. "What the fuck's happened?"
Draco told Zabini as much as he could, while leaving Astoria out of it. He made it sound as though he had simply happened upon the fact Lucius was an informant, and luckily Zabini became too lost in thought to question it further.
"That's definitely risky," Blaise decided. "I don't blame you for getting out. And you'll have to tell Nott."
"Are you fucking joking? I'm trying to lessen my chances of being killed."
"Exactly, you need to disclose. 'My dad's posing as an informant, but he's really on our side, and I'm stepping away from home anyway.' Set it up, shut it down. You'll be fucked, otherwise."
Draco considered his words. Perhaps there was some truth to them.
"Anyway, let's get out of here. Hestia's making shepherd's pie for dinner."
Draco pulled a face in disgust. "I'll eat alone."
"Suit yourself." Zabini shrugged. "I'll see you in a bit."
Draco only stayed ten minutes longer, drinking more firewhiskey and looking dour. He placed a galleon on the table and left, reminding himself to go to Gringotts in the morning and withdraw more from his vault. He'd stepped out into the London rain and readied himself to disapparate, when a familiar face caught his eye.
Daphne Greengrass was walking along the street, hand in hand with a man Draco didn't recognise. This was unusual in itself — the wizarding world was a small place, and usually there'd be a trace of family resemblance, or an air of Hogwarts house. This man was clean, unclaimed… a muggle.
Daphne froze at the sight of Draco. His eyes darted between her and the man, and he saw Daphne whisper something in the man's ear, causing him to kiss her on the cheek and turn to walk the other way. Draco raised his eyebrows.
"Hello," Daphne said cautiously, approaching and twisting the handle of her umbrella.
"Who was that?" Draco asked.
"Nobody."
They stared at each other.
"Please don't tell anyone," she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Please, Draco, it's not how it looks. I don't think even-
"I won't."
Daphne blinked. "Not even Tori. Especially not Tori."
"I won't say a word."
She looked puzzled. "You're not mad?"
Draco shrugged. "It's none of my business."
"But…" Daphne struggled. "But he's a muggle. It's… It's not right."
Draco didn't know what to say, so he only shrugged once more. It was true. He didn't really care. A few years ago, it would have disgusted him. Sure, it was a bit odd. He couldn't imagine it for himself. He simply felt he wouldn't have enough in common with a muggle woman. But for Daphne, why not?
"Well, thank you," she said.
Draco nodded. "I'd better go."
"Wait, Draco." She bit her lip, looking remarkably like Astoria in the gesture. "I don't mean to pry, but I have to ask. What's going on between you and my sister?"
"Nothing," Draco said, far too quickly.
"Then why is she doing weird shit like taking Euphoria and buying you owls?"
"I don't know." He scuffed a foot against the ground. "I didn't ask her to."
"Okay." Daphne sighed. "I'm sorry she's so weird. Just… be kind to her."
"She's not weird." Draco furrowed his brow. "She's fine."
Though he hated to admit it, all Draco could think of for the rest of the evening was the simple fact that… Well, he missed her. He missed Tori. He missed having somebody to smear glitter across his face or buy him an owl or drag him along to stupid Quidditch practices. He even entertained the idea of finding something else for them to do together, maybe inviting her to run errands in Diagon Alley. Her presence was comforting. It distracted him from his own trauma.
Once more, like a muscle memory, he shut down the ideas. It wouldn't be fair to her. He rolled the bitter thought around in his mind as he lay in bed, the giggles and moans from Zabini's room almost too much to bear.
I can't love anybody. I'm a death eater.
