Author's note: Hi everyone - this story has been on hold for a very long time, longer than I intended when I decided to stop posting for a while. I am not entirely finished with it yet, but I am close enough that I feel comfortable going back to weekly updates.
From now on, "Aftershocks" will be updated regularly, with a new chapter every Sunday starting May 29. The Sunday-updates will be full chapters, but there are a few shorter chapters, and they will be posted as occasional extra-updates on Wednesdays.
- Mymlen
Chapter 33
Draco had only managed to walk about five metres down the hall after he had split up with Potter, before he had to stop and steady himself. He slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment.
Somehow he felt worse than he had after their fight. Happier, definitely, but at least that incident had felt like something he had controlled. He had provoked Potter's reaction, he had decided how to feel about it. And this was just… a free fall, a tumble of things that were completely out of his control.
He wasn't even sure whether to blame his house or his family for the fact that he had already envisioned every single possible scenario in which this could be used against him.
He was also aware that he would probably cling to this memory forever, replaying it to himself over and over just to feel that thrill again of Potter's hand in his hair, his flustered laugh. The way he hadn't stopped smiling.
The part of himself that could objectively monitor his actions was disgusted with this development. The imaginary version of Pansy that lived in his head was gagging. He was very aware how pathetic this all was.
But he could still remember the tingle of Potter's breath on his face.
He thought he had been pretty successfully nonchalant when he had kissed him goodbye.
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He returned to the common room and tried to look busy as he made his way to his dormitory, so no one would try to talk to him. It seemed safer to keep interaction with other people to a minimum, as his ability to act normal felt pretty shaky.
Though his days had been centred around preparing for going to Azkaban, he had not recently been paying a lot of attention to his memories of the prison itself. He had been preoccupied with the planning, with learning the patronus, so the painful parts, the ones that terrified him so much it seemed ridiculous that he was even attempting this, they had taken second place in his thoughts. Though this had made the impossibility of their mission seem lesser, it had also made it less urgent to him.
As he climbed the stairs to his dormitory, the thought struck him that perhaps the sense of urgency that he remembered feeling had had more to do with Potter and less to do with the prison itself – that perhaps this had mostly been about getting close to him, and he just hadn't been able to admit that to himself. It did make sense when he thought about it like that – the more certain he had felt about Potter not abandoning him, the less urgent Azkaban had become. They were putting themselves in danger by rushing it. They had time, didn't they? Perhaps they should even reconsider the possibility of a political solution.