Draco couldn't stop thinking about her. It was as if he was now contractually obligated to picture her face and nothing else. Every free moment he had to think was filled with deep brown eyes and wild brown hair. The memory of their kiss continued to replay near-endlessly, plaguing him. He had run back over what had happened many times and each time his comprehension of the events became less and less clear. As far as her could tell, neither one of them had initiated it. It was almost like a magnetic field had activated for a brief moment and neither of them had control of their movements.
Of course, no matter who had kissed who, it didn't mean anything. Whether he had wanted to kiss her or not, which of course, he had, Hermione obviously hadn't kissed him because she'd wanted to. She'd been half-drunk at the time and, by the face she'd made, had instantly regretted it. He was just as sorry it had happened. Every time he thought of her now he would feel the ghost of her soft lips and the gentle pressure of her fingertips and his heart would jump from his chest.
It seemed like every time he hit rock bottom, he somehow fell for her longer and harder the next time.
Love was such a pointless and irrational thing. The logical side of him knew that he had no chance. Knew that she would never truly forgive him. Knew that he could never win over the boy who had been by her side for so long. But his heart clung to a sickly-sweet sort of optimism that tried to convince him otherwise, driving him mad.
Yet life carried on through his confusing emotions and so did he. The last of his school work still had to be finished before Christmas break. He still had tests to study for and a trunk to pack for the holidays. Whether a blessing or a curse, he didn't see her again. The two weeks flew by quickly and soon he was heading home on the Hogwarts express. Daphne sat with him in a compartment near the front of train.
He thought about telling Daphne about the kiss, but honestly regarded the whole event as useless information. There was no need for analysis or contemplation. A tipsy girl had kissed a boy she was unaware had feelings for her and that was the whole of it. Beyond that, he was determined to keep it secret for Hermione's sake. She probably wanted the story to be spread even less than he did. And while Draco trusted Daphne not to go spouting his secrets, the fewer who knew the better.
It was the type of story he would have shared with his mates readily back in the day. That is, if it had been any other girl; he would have been ashamed to have gone anywhere near Granger when he was younger. A younger Draco probably would have spun the story up into some sort of steamy snog session. His mates would have laughed and clapped him on the back congratulating him on a job well done. The notion made him sick. Each day he grew increasingly more spiteful of his former self.
The train ride was fairly uneventful. Snow was just starting to fall when they pulled off from Hogsmeade station and continued to fall steadily through most of their journey. He and Daphne played exploding snap for a while, then chatted casually about their holiday plans, and spent the rest of the ride sitting quietly. Daphne took a nap on the seat opposite him and he watched out the window as the countryside flickered between hills, forests, and fields.
His thoughts wandered to the cold empty halls in Malfoy Manor and he was filled with dread. He hadn't especially missed them. Even the dungeons of Slytherin dormitory had a similar aesthetic without being nearly so cold and unwelcoming. He wasn't entirely sure if he should be excited to see his mother either. He had missed her, that much was true, but their relationship had frayed in the past few years. Even her weekly letters had not yet made their reappearance. They'd stopped some time ago, late fifth year when their family life had started to become tense. What would she be like having spent the better part of four months alone in an empty Malfoy Manor?
In a surprising turn of events, which he could only describe as the universe finally cutting him some slack, he found his mother in relatively happy spirits and not at all the miserable downtrodden soul he'd come to expect. She lovingly embraced him with a wide smile when she found him on the platform and was fairly cheerful and talkative on their journey home. They arrived at the manor on a crisp winter day, the sun shining in a cloudless sky.
Malfoy Manor also surprised him when he found it in a significantly less gloomy state than when he had left it. He didn't quite know how to describe it or what to make of it. In an odd way, it seemed like the building had been healed.
The meal celebrating his return was particularly extravagant that evening and over dinner they talked about his past few months at Hogwarts. She inquired about his grades and how he was liking his position as head boy. He told her truthfully that he was enjoying it more than he'd expected to but conveniently left out all information pertaining to the head girl. In turn, his mother told him about the hobby she had picked up while he was gone: painting.
As they were finishing up their meal, Draco tried to ask casually if she'd heard anything from his father. She froze up and flushed a few shades whiter. Talk of his father was almost taboo. "No," she responded simply and, after a few uncomfortable moments of silence, excused herself from the room. Of course he realized that there was simply no way she was being truthful, but he didn't push the matter and instead decided to turn in for the evening.
His room was the same as when he'd left it. His Hogwarts letter was still lying on his bed where he had put it down on September first and his broomstick still propped against the wall, untouched in the corner of his room.
He eyed it curiously as he set his trunk down at the end of his bed. It was growing late in the evening and darkness was already falling, but he had the sudden compulsion to mount it and just fly off somewhere. Without much hesitation, he followed the urge and soon was soaring far above his family's mansion. The house's chimneys and the trees in the courtyard grew smaller behind him and the wind rushed through his hair as he shot upwards. The cool night air was invigorating as he took a deep breath and it filled his lungs.
He felt so free, sitting there on his broomstick, miles above the ground. No one was around and no one was likely to be. He closed his eyes and for a moment, allowed himself to dream. It was a luxury he didn't often feel like he could afford, in the emotional sense. Dreams were just that, dreams. Most were unattainably farfetched and she was one of them. But he would let his mind wander just this once.
He imagined her bright face beaming up at him, her soft hands pressing against his chest and his arms wrapped around her. They stood watching the sun set over the lake in his favorite spot at Hogwarts. She laid her head on his shoulder and he recalled the familiar scent of her hair. It was an intoxicating blend of book pages, tea, and a hint of citrus. A peace came over him at the sensation of his arms enveloping her slight frame and even so high up in the air, he felt her grounding him. Oh what he wouldn't give to never let go.
A strong gust of wind blew him back to reality. He steadied himself on his broom and sighed heavily. For all the happiness the image had given him, an equal amount of an emotion akin to loss writhed its way into his stomach. It was painful to know that he would never hold her like that. He knew he would never be allowed that close to her ever again. The first time was an accident. A terrible accident.
He drew up the collar of his coat to combat the cold sting of the wind on his face on his flight back. He lay in bed that evening with the same heavy feeling sitting firmly upon him. The pain of losing something you never had was just as painful as the real thing.
On the days when he was able to keep the persistent thoughts of her out of his head, he found himself pleasantly enjoying his days with his mother at Malfoy Manor. Afternoon tea with her was particularly entertaining as they sat and chatted about the latest news in the Daily Prophet.
Christmas day came and went quickly. His mother gifted him a beautiful alchemy set complete with an ornate magically-extended trunk made of mahogany, full of basic potion ingredients, along with set of pure white gold scales and a cauldron to match. His name was engraved on each in fancy script. Draco couldn't remember ever being so excited for a gift. He did his best to thank his mother fervently and hugged her at least four separate times.
Indeed, he was so excited to try it that he toyed around with it the rest of the afternoon and had successfully brewed a draught of peace by the time his mother summoned him to dinner. He had picked the potion consciously for its simplicity and in anticipation of the N.E.W.T.S he had to look forward to at the end of the year.
The time after Christmas flew by and before long he was staring at his trunk again on the eve of his return to Hogwarts as the winter holiday came to a close. Strange how, despite all the positive occurrences he'd experienced the past semester, he was still filled with apprehension at the aspect of his return.
Reluctantly, he packed away his things. He debated back and forth for a while over his broomstick and in the end decided to bring it along. With all the flying around he'd been doing nearly every evening over break, he'd become reattached to it and found that it was usually a reliable way to clear his head. At the very least, he figured it might help him do the same with all the homework and tests he would have to get through in the upcoming semester.
As he was fitting the last of his untouched textbooks into his trunk, a knock came from behind his door. "Come in," he called. His mother entered.
"I was just calling on you to say good night," she said, strolling over to him. She reached her arm around him for a loving embrace and then tiptoed to give him a kiss on his forehead. He smiled at her and bid her goodnight. As she was leaving though, he remembered the pressing question that he had been meaning to ask her.
"Mother?" he called after her.
"Yes, what is it, dear?" She turned in the doorway.
"I was hoping that you might have some news about father is all. Are you sure that you have nothing to share?" Diabolical though it probably was, he'd done his best imitation of young, worried Draco Malfoy, preying on her motherly instincts in the hopes that he might be able to weasel some information out of her. Again, her face became drawn and pale, just like it had on his first night back. An internal struggle seemed to ensue as she debated whether or not to share whatever information she had.
"Well, I supposed I wasn't quite honest with you the other evening," she admitted finally. "I did visit him while you were away. I was permitted to see him..." she cut off reluctantly.
"And what happened?" he urged her.
"Your father… well, he wasn't of particularly… sound mind when I saw him." Her face took on a expression similar to terror. "Oh Draco, it was awful to see him in such a state. Chained up like some animal, half-starved, and dressed in rags." She looked away and moved a black lace-covered hand to cover her mouth. "He told me how much he misses us and how he wished he could have seen you. I told him that you had made head boy and he was so very proud of you dear."
Her eyes dropped to the floor. Whatever was making her so worried, she hadn't shared it with him yet. "He… well he seemed optimistic… " Draco was anxious with anticipation. He could feel it. She was on the verge of telling him.
"Honey, I don't want to upset you, but your father confided something with me while I was there. He said he was optimistic that he would soon be released for probation on good behavior." She nervously adjusted her nightdress. "I do not wish to speak ill of your father, but I fear that he did not come by it honestly. I would love nothing more than to see your father returned home to us, I worry for what people will think and do. I fear that they will become angry if he is let off early. You remember how people reacted when his sentence was reduced to seven years." And remember Draco did. They had received some particularly nasty and threatening letters following his father's trial. Thankfully, nothing had come of them, but he remembered the numerous sideways glances that had been shot in his direction when he'd shown up for his own hearing at the ministry.
He looked at his mother, whose eyes were now swelling with tears. Walking over to her, he pulled her into a comforting embrace. It was miserable to see her in such a fearful state. It felt like the war all over again. "We'll be alright. People are going to think what they're going to think." He wanted to say more, but he couldn't. He wanted to tell her that his father would never intentionally put them in harm's way, but he felt like he would have been lying. Lucius had already done so many times before.
She wiped away her tears and smiled up at him. "I'm sorry that you had to see mummy cry. Don't you worry about me. You just worry about finishing up with school. Your father and I will work this out. Don't let us get in the way of you following your dreams."
He gave her a beaming smile and she turned to leave the room. It faded instantly when he heard the door click shut behind her. He sighed as he finished packing and climbed into his bed for the last evening of sleep he would have in the house for a while. He thought bitterly of his father, who at the same moment was lying in a cell in Azkaban. Maybe he should be happy at the aspect of his father's release. But the truth was, he wasn't. The man had gotten in the way of Draco following his dream a long time ago, before he had even known what it was.
Or rather, who it was and now it was too late.