A/N: Small scenes of PTSD and anxiety. Not the triggers for the characters suffering from it, but definite mention of symptoms.

A scream wrenched her up in her bed, sweat drenching her night shirt. She slapped a hand over her mouth, trying desperately to catch her breath.

"I can't handle these dreams any longer." She whispered, her fingers trembling against her lips.

As softly as she could, the witch stumbled out of her bed and into the bathroom. There, on the counter, was a small cabinet. She pulled one of the doors open and pulled out a small vial of Dreamless Sleep. It was her third in as many days. The bushy-haired woman tossed her head back, the dreadful purple potion slipping down her throat and sank down to the floor.

She should move, before the drowsiness kicked in completely. It was difficult to push past that non-existent curtain holding her in the room. The dark no longer bothered her, but the open rooms made her draw her breath tight, always searching the shadows.

Ginny was going to be irritable in the morning, especially if she remained in the small bathroom they shared. Hermione gathered herself carefully, aware of how fragile she was after the blinding pain of the knife in her heart and in her dreams. It was trying to consume her. April and March were not her favorite months of the year. Even November and December were better than this. She settled back into her bed and shut her eyes for the rest of the night.

"Let's get those skeletons dancing!" The dark skinned wizard roared, his wand at his throat.

The crowd roared back and the bartenders quickly added their magic to the muffling charms around the lowered dance floor and stage. The band was a relatively unknown one. A modge-podge of muggleborns and half-bloods, they were quite adept at several popular songs from Muggle and Wizarding cultures. Not that he would admit it. Too many of the regular patrons were from his side in the war. All were forbidden from discussing the war. All were forbidden from complaining of the restitution and restrictions placed on them. But they were all lucky. Only a few people with the Mark had escaped Azkaban, himself included, and none of them completely. All had been held there awaiting the trials from the small group of people that had been brought for the Common Wizengamot as it was being called. It had taken the Aurors and the Order months to weed through people looking for the most unbiased witches and wizards that could be found after the devastation; all of which any one with close ties to the hatred waited on that lonely island.

"I torture you, take my hand through the flames; I torture you."

The song jerked Draco out of his head. The group of witches and wizards on stage were going to get him killed tonight. While the song was quite likely one of his personal favorites they had brought from the Muggle world, May was fast approaching and the youngest Malfoy had no desire to remind the dark hearted creatures that haunted his home away from home.

He shook his head once as he caught the eye of the honey-haired witch sing the chorus. She smirked darkly and kept purring the words to the hypnotized dancers. Damn that witch. She was too like the other and knew it. Adrestia was going to be the death of him. The blond heir to untold wealth had survived war and torture, the inescapable trials only to be killed at the hands of vengeance. Her name's irony had not escaped him. Her two brothers were just as bad. Timorus and Metus loved the whole atmosphere of the bar and had been the ones to approach him about performing live on some nights. Draco shuddered at the grins the twins had shared that night.

The man that introduced them made his way over to Malfoy, a small smile gracing his lips. Blaise nodded his head at his boss and friend before settling in one of the chairs around the table. The haunted melody pushed through the dual layers of muffling charms, grating on his chalkboard of nerves.

"Blaise, can't you get them to be sensible for once?" Draco inquired, a soft glare in his eyes.

The twenty two year-old laughed at him, a small laugh, but still at him.

"Like you don't enjoy flirting with the idea of being torn apart by them. I know your secrets well, my friend."

Draco glared at his friend. It was hard to accept, but he was right about knowing his secrets. Only two had really managed to slip past all the pureblood defenses that he had been groomed to use. Blaise Zabini had this cool face about himself and, following a Slytherin ideal of self-preservation, disappeared through much of the wars. And then Luna. He was still surprised that she was his friend when the war had ended only four years ago. The woman had damn near died in his basement. How she could just waltz right up to him was anyone's guess.

The blond witch on his mind was, unfortunately, not here tonight. Something about going across the pond to look for Curatrix in the Americas. She claimed that the creatures that resided in Wizarding Europe were sick and corrupted. Draco snorted. Just another one of her mythical beasts. But putting up with Luna's eccentrics was simple compared to the demands and eccentricities of a power hunger monster that had taken over ones home. The blood seemed to drench every wall in his home, every rug and tapestry.

Blaise reached over and snapped his fingers in Malfoy's face.

"Don't go down that rabbit hole, mate. I could see it on your face."

Draco shook his head gently to clear the dark brooding thoughts from the forefront of his mind. The proprietor of Belle Reve waved a hand over at the bar and they quickly put together his current, favorite vice. The voice of the band pulled his attention back to the stage as the singer announced a break in their set. He slid off the leather arm chair and ventured over to her.

The fine-boned witch gave him a smirk worthy of his mother. Draco's facial expressions were most definitely learned from his mother, not Lucius. She knew exactly why the man was approaching her.

"Well, little Dragon. I hope you enjoyed the songs tonight. I know how much it's your favorite."

Her smoky voice reverberated down his spine, almost wrapping its way into his bones. Draco rolled his neck, an exasperated sigh falling from his mouth.

"Just don't get me killed, little witch. I pay your bills."

Her smirk grew in strength and she followed her brothers into a back room to grab some drinks. The youngest Malfoy turned back to his private table. Blaise grinned wickedly.

"You can try all you want, but she won't be your toy."

Silver eyes darkened into yet another glare at his good friend.

A young witch moved forward and placed a silver disc on their table and floated a chunk of glass over to rest on top of it. Draco mused over the glass marra pipe in front of him, its jelly fish head resting on the glass vase filled with liquid enchanted to look like the molten gold of Felix Felicis. There were similar works of art on various tables throughout the club, albeit with different hues in them. After a number of attempts to smash the vases for the falsified potion, only Draco's table was to be given the gold hued liquid. Blaise grasped one of the glass tubes snaking away from the bulbous head and pulled a long tendril of smoke through it.

"So what are you going to do about the girls?" He whispered softly, ignoring that there was always a powerful Muffliato charm around Draco's table.

Even with no names, the Malfoy heir knew exactly who the other wizard was referring to. Without fail, once a week, the Weaslette and Granger both attempted entry. Granger was, of course, unrelenting in her quest for entry. The name of the club was not well known, but he was sure the muggleborn was aware of it. Belle Reve. Only the muggleborns and half-bloods would catch the reference. Luna had brought him a comic that boasted the name being that of a super prison. The symbolism of that name wasn't lost on him either. He was a Slytherin, born and bred; sarcasm was his bread and butter.

"I have no idea."

As if on cue, or she knew they were being discussed, the red-head of the pair of women walked in the front door. Draco arched an eyebrow at the fact that she was alone. Ginny Weasley was a gossip-mongering twat and always seemed to be attached at the hip to someone, specifically a bushy-haired know-it-all. Draco turned to Blaise, a silver blond eyebrow arched as elegantly as one might expect.

"This is different," the Italian wizard mirrored his thoughts almost perfectly. "I wonder where Miss Sexy Librarian is."

The glare almost wasn't enough. Of course Blaise deemed the Gryffindor princess as attractive. Age and the ability to use most glamour spells had improved her looks entirely. And Zabini was always appreciative of fine female forms.

The dark-skinned Italian stood, and quickly moved towards the threshold separating the club from its entryway; the initiated from those unable to get in. He stopped for a moment to run a gentle hand along the back of the Watchit, still surprising his blond friend that it didn't maim or injure him. Draco spoke up, his voice not raising very loud, but knowing his friend could hear him.

"Give her a hint. Make it fun."

Blaise smirked over his shoulder at the Malfoy heir and winked before finally sauntering over the barrier stone. Draco shook his head; they were all going to be the death of him.

A/N: I used Sucker for Pain from Lil Wayne, Wiz Khalifa, Imagine Dragons With Logic, Ty Dolla Sign, and X Ambassadors for the little snippet of lyrics, again from the Suicide Squad soundtrack. Adrestia is the greek deity of revenge/ just vengeance, daughter of Ares, and the brothers are the Roman versions of the goddess' brothers.

Luna's creatures are important to me and possibly this story. I'm basing many of the ones not actually canon off the "Real Monsters" illustrations by Toby Allen. His tumblr is zestydoesthings. The Curatrix is essentially the PTSD monster.

I didn't mean to take almost five months to update, but life took a weird turn for the last bit of Twenty Sixteen.

- Sin