We're so close... Also it's only one month and three days until The Cursed Child script is released, and I'm pretty gosh-darned excited about it. Between that and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and the illustrated Chamber of Secrets, 2016 is shaping up to be a nice year for me. Thank you for the reviews and alerts!

Disclaimer: Nope. Major credit though to T.S. Eliot and Arthur O'Shaughnessy.

It was interesting to watch his face in the memories. He could really tell the different between his fifteen-year-old self and his seventeen-year-old self. At fifteen, he always wore a look of bold confidence, a smug grin or a sneer. At seventeen, he just looked terrified.

Draco had a hard time discerning what was worse: the actually memories or the nightmares he experienced that followed them. While the things he saw in the Pensieve with Healer Derwent were terrifying, it was over once he left the office. The nightmares never ended. Even while awake, he saw things just behind his shoulder or on the other side of the wing that made him want to hide.

Astoria understood this. Healer Derwent did too, and he never raised any objections about Astoria's presence during the therapy. She was very grounded for someone so young. The Head Healer found it interesting how dedicated she was to Draco Malfoy. He was sure Draco didn't see it. The therapy occupied most of his thoughts, but even if it wasn't, the Healer was sure Draco wouldn't have noticed Astoria's loyalty. Boys could be like that sometimes.

Memory therapy happened three times a week. Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. The sessions weren't timed like the regular therapy sessions were. They would work on however many memories Draco could stand, with the highest so far being three. The worse ones were memories Draco had of Voldemort. Second place went to his Aunt Bellatrix, and third went to the detentions chambers at Hogwarts. Astoria would shut her eyes if any memories involving the Carrow twins came up, and she always held Draco's hand tighter. Healer Derwent had talked to her about not coming on the days when those memories would be looked at. He had worked with her a lot and knew her triggers. She chose to wait outside the door, ready to come if she was needed, but far enough away.

Healer Derwent was not worried. He saw a bright future for Draco Malfoy, and he was determined to make sure his patient was ready for it. It was grueling and emotionally taxing work, but he knew that it was going to make a difference. He entered this field for a reason.

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

September 1st was a rainy day. When Draco awoke that morning, he could hear the soft pitter patter on the roofs. A London rain would last all day.

It had been two years since his last trip on the Hogwarts Express. Every year had been different. He'd met Harry Potter on the train when he was eleven. When he was twelve, he spent the time making up stories about what happened to Potter and Ron Weasley. Third year was the dementors. He didn't like thinking about that train ride as much. Fourth year was spent with Crabbe and Goyle talking about what happened at the Quidditch World Cup. His prefect duties took over in fifth year, which he rather enjoyed. Sixth year he spent boasting to his peers while secretly hiding his fears. Seventh year, he just wanted everything to be over.

There was a soft knock at his door. Astoria was leaning at the doorframe, a concerned look on her face.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

She crossed the room and settled in next to his legs on his bed. "You want breakfast?"

He nodded. "I think so, yeah."

"I can bring it back. Not feeling like the dining hall today?"

He nodded again, and she slipped away. When Astoria returned, she brought with her a plate of eggs, two scones, and a pot of tea. They used his bedside table and ate silently.

"You'd be on the train today, wouldn't you?" he broke in.

With a mouthful of egg, she nodded.

"Is it strange to not be?"

Astoria swallowed, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Easily. It's made me sad."

"How so?"

"That part of me, the Astoria Greengrass who was a student at Hogwarts and loved her classes and the teachers and sneaking out to go swim in the lake, is dead. She's not coming back. She went on board two years ago and never came back."

"The Draco Malfoy who got on the train three years ago isn't coming back."

"Do you think that's a good thing?"

He asked himself that on a daily basis. "I don't know."

Draco remained in a pensive mood the rest of the day. The nostalgia of Hogwarts washed over him repeatedly. He remembered small memories like going to Hogsmeade with Crabbe and Goyle or flying on his broom around the Quidditch pitch after Flint yelled at him. All his classes, his professors, his friends, his allies, his enemies. He saw all of their faces. Crabbe and Goyle following him loyally. Blaise and Nott keeping their distance, but always on his side. Pansy clutching his arm to drag him off for a good snog. And constantly Potter, Weasley, and Granger, playing the heroes and the good guys, always coming out on top.

"What are you reading now?" Astoria asked, snapping him out of his reverie. She sank down next to him to take a look at his book.

"Giving Shakespeare a try I see?"

"He's a sodding idiot, but yeah. We'll see."

"You might like some of his plays."

"If he does plays like he does poems, then I'll pass."

"You just have a style."

"I'd get blasted off the family tree for reading all this."

She nodded. "Seems like a lot of things can get you blasted off."

He could tell there was something off with her. He wasn't sure exactly, but there was something. If there was one thing he'd learned about Astoria, it was not to press too hard. She was always willing to talk about things, but it had to be when she was ready to. He believed her when she told him that.

They ate dinner, picking around their food and keeping up with Logan, who was excited to be going home the next week. Potion time went smoothly, each emptying their vials dutifully. Draco cleaned up for the night and went back to his room. Astoria had disappeared, and he assumed she was already in bed. He settled down into his sheets, ready for the rhythm of Logan's soft snores to pull him into sleep.

"Can you scoot over?"

She had slipped in the room so quietly, he hadn't even noticed. Her rolled over closer to his left while she shimmied into place.

"Nightmares?"

"No."

He turned on his side to face her, propping a hand underneath his cheek. It was dark, but he could see a faint outline of her. Draco was lost for words and could do nothing more but stare.

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts," she whispered.

He realized he could make a joke of this, but now wasn't the time. She needed him to listen, the way she listened to him.

"I got an owl about six months ago from McGonagall. Invited me to come back to school when I'm ready. Had everything set up."

"Not going?"

She shook her head. "I fought and fought with myself over this, to go back or not. And not going back is what I decided. I was the worst I've ever felt, but I knew I couldn't..."

Draco understood. "You know what's waiting for you there." His seventh year remained incomplete, and he knew he wasn't going back to finish. There was too much. All the ghosts would haunt him, the screams, the spells, the terrors. Even more terrors awaited Astoria.

"I know it's the best decision. I know it is. But I feel bloody terrible about it."

She reached for his hand in the darkness, fingers trembling. Her touch was warm and light, and he bit his lip to keep from making any sort of noise.

"Did I choose wrong Draco? Did I mess it all up again?"

He wanted nothing more to reach out and kiss her. He didn't know how to make it go away. He worried that if he opened his mouth, he'd regret what would come out. He wasn't going to be more baggage for her to carry. He swallowed once and counted to ten in his head.

"We are world losers and world forsakers," he said slowly. "Everyone lost the war, but we lost it the most. We lost the world, and it turned its back on us. Perhaps it's time for us to forsake the world instead of being lost in it. It's time for me and for you to do things for ourselves and not because other people tell us we ought to."

Draco wasn't really sure what he said made sense. It felt odd coming out of his mouth. He'd been reading Arthur O'Shaughnessy, and he had thought of Astoria. It would be her that would rise out of the ashes of her old self, body scarred in every way possible from her eyes to the very center of her being, but still always Astoria. Always the Hufflepuff that she made sure everyone knew she was.

"You're quite the poet." Even in the dark, he knew she was smiling.

"I'm not. I just know how to steal good lines."

"I won't tell then."

He smiled, sure she didn't see him, and turned over, releasing her fingers. It hurt to hold on for too long, and he was certain that was her final word for the night.

"Draco?" her voice carried into his ears.

"Yeah?"

"What do you want to do? When you leave here?"

He flipped over again to face her, his eyes tired, but his mouth moved involuntarily. "Move."

"Move?"

"Mother still has the Manor. And I can't... I can't go back there."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know. But not there. It's like Hogwarts, but worse."

She nodded. "I understand."

He knew she did. Better than anyone.

"What do you want to do? he asked.

She didn't answer immediately. "I wrote a letter today," she began. "I wrote it to McGonagall. I wrote her about three months ago to tell her I wasn't coming back. She offered me one time to see if I take my OWLs, and I brushed it off. I didn't want to. Back in June, I was in a counseling session with Healer Derwent, and he asked me about my artwork and if it was helping me. He said he'd been doing research, and he'd found there are programs called art therapy or music therapy. Muggles do it. They teach a skill to help people while they are in therapy. And he asked me if I would be interested in training for it. I wouldn't need NEWTs, just my OWLs. I told McGonagall that in my letter, and I asked if her I could still take the tests."

"Did you send it?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure. I want to but I.."

"Send it," Draco interrupted. "You'll be so bloody brilliant at that Astoria. I can't imagine you not doing anything like that. Merlin, you'll be so good."

"You think?"

"Of course."

They stayed awake to talk a little longer, but Astoria eventually drifted out of the conversation as sleep overtook her. Draco laid awake for a few hours longer, his own mind swimming in possibilities of how he could too could forsake the world. A thrill he hadn't felt in a long time vibrated in his brain.

September 1st is day the Hogwarts Express pulls out from King's Cross station. It's the day many witches and wizards set foot in Hogwarts for the first time. It's the day of possibilities. Though Draco Malfoy didn't know it, he would one day send his son off on that train. Though he and Astoria swore they would never return to Hogwarts, they did just one time so they could watch their son graduate from Hogwarts. That once was enough. They had left the past behind and were moving forward.