He had been staring at the door for two hours already. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Draco hadn't moved a muscle since he woke. He hadn't even bothered to open the container in which his breakfast was waiting for him.

He had a different motivation to start his day and his rumbling stomach wouldn't stop him.

He had woken with a start from a terrible nightmare, as he had every night lately. He saw the Azkaban guards, the Fiendfyre from the Room of Requirement, or Nagini devouring one of his teachers. His nights were divided between waking and nightmares. He slept very little. He didn't need to see his face to know that his eyes were rimmed with red.

But that morning he decided to do something. He didn't want to spend hours waiting for Blaise or Pansy. So he decided to do something in the hope of improving his could do it, he kept telling himself. At least, that was what he hoped.

However, it was proving to be much more difficult than he had thought. The mere idea of getting out of bed was complicated, unimaginable. He had done it a few times, just to see some of his surroundings through the window, but the action had been just as difficult as the idea.

Facing the vastness of the outside world had been particularly hard. He had felt so small, so insignificant in front of the mountains that his bedroom window looked out on. It was so big, so far away. The realisation that he was so small in comparison made him dizzy.

And yet this door–it was right in front of him. With a few steps, he could put his hand on the handle and open it. With a few steps, he could improve his daily life, which consisted of a room half the size of the one he'd had at the manor and twice the size of his cell in Azkaban. But he had no idea what lay behind it.

He'd imagined all sorts of things, most of them rationally impossible, but still troubling. What if it was a trap? What if the prison wardens were waiting behind it?

He shuddered at the thought.

For the past ten days, his life consisted of the walls around him, bandages, wounds and nightmares, he didn't know what the rest of the house looked like, and he was afraid to find out.

What if he ran into Granger? What if she tried to hurt him again? He couldn't afford to bump into her; he knew it would ruin all his efforts. He had to explore the area alone, with nothing but his own thoughts to disturb him.

What if he came across the big white monster he had seen at the window? It looked particularly dangerous. A few days earlier, Draco had had a long panic attack when he imagined he would be hurt by it.

He had to analyse more precisely the movements of the other inhabitants of the house. Otherwise, he would be unable to do anything.

Before he even realised it, hours had passed without him moving from his mattress. It was only the sound of a portkey that brought him out of his fixation.

He had failed. He hadn't managed to open the door before Pansy arrived in the late afternoon.

oOo

This time Draco was much more prepared. He had spent two days at his bedroom window, trying to catch a glimpse of Granger and her bloody monstrous companion. He had sat there and not moved once. Pansy and Blaise hadn't come because of their workload–they'd obviously told him in advance–so he could spend the day there.

Everything was perfect, calculated.

He had been able to detail what little terrain he could see. According to his analysis, there were two other buildings besides the main house. One appeared to be much larger and taller than the one he lived in–although he could only get a glimpse of it–while the other, not entirely in his field of vision, appeared to be a long glass tube. In fact, it looked like one of the greenhouses at Hogwarts.

It was surrounded by miles of wilderness and in the distance he could see forests and mountains. No other dwellings, no villages, no buildings. Nothing but endless acres of quiet, vibrant nature. He had wondered if the forests were inhabited by magical creatures.

From what he remembered, Blaise had told him they were in France, in a Muggle region. He knew the country well, having been there several times with his parents in his youth; however, he had no idea which part of the country he was in. His best friend hadn't told him.

Draco knew that there were only four mountain ranges in France: the Alps, the Jura, the Massif Central and the Pyrenees, at least the most important ones. According to his estimates, the house was at altitude, since it wasn't very hot–or even cold–in the middle of May. So he judged that it was probably the Alps, or the Pyrenees, as the mountain ranges seemed more imposing than those of the Massif Central or the Jura.

He had learnt French geography by heart in his youth. He had to make his ancestors proud, according to his father. He still found it hard to understand how knowing the name of a mountain or a river would make his ancestors proud.

After some calculations, he knew roughly where he was, which wasn't negligible. This didn't help his difficulty in getting out of the room, but it was still important to him. He felt more comfortable, more familiar with his surroundings. He had never been to this part of France, having only visited the Dordogne–after being invited to Theodore Nott's–and Burgundy, where his father had inherited a house.

Once he had analysed the surroundings, or at least what little he could see from the window, he concentrated on the other inhabitants of the house. After all, that was the most important thing.

He needed to know exactly what times of the day he would have a clear path as to not run into Granger and her beast. If he knew that, he could act more calmly, without having to ask himself any questions other than how he would open the door and put one foot in front of the other.

So, not knowing what time Granger and her white monster started their days, he had taken advantage of his nightmare-induced awakenings to wait for the sunrise by the window. It had become a little routine: he would enjoy the morning wind on his face and watch the sky lighten. Then he would wait to see his two housemates leave the house.

By his estimation, knowing that the sun came out around six-thirty, Granger would leave her home at seven. Her horrible creature followed her everywhere. She would go to one of the other two buildings in the residence before then, but she wouldn't spend enough time there for Draco to take advantage of the opportunity to leave the room. It was too risky.

She didn't come back at noon–he had made sure of that–and returned at the end of the day. He didn't know the exact time, but promised himself to ask Blaise or Pansy for a watch the next time they came to visit. He would need one if he wanted to be more precise. Simple estimates wouldn't satisfy him.

He hadn't dwelt on the evil white creature–preferring not to imagine too many scenarios in which it would attack him–but had watched Granger in the few seconds each day that she walked through her garden on her way home, or to another building. She never looked up at his window, stubbornly kept her head down and turned around every ten seconds to check that her white creature was still behind her.

Sometimes he saw her talking, probably calling her a monster or saying a few words, but Draco couldn't make out what she was saying. He wasn't really trying to. As long as she wasn't directing her words at him, he didn't care. He didn't need any more concern.

Blaise had explained to him that he had isolated his room from outside noise and vice versa. Draco hadn't asked any questions about it, of course, but he'd wondered several times if his friend had done it for his sake–so he wouldn't be disturbed by the noise Granger might make–or for her sake, so she wouldn't have to hear Draco's screams of terror during his nightmares.

Nor had he asked for the spells to be removed. He saw them as an extra security. He felt strangely confident in this room. Blaise had told him several times that Granger wouldn't be coming here again and that there was plenty of magical protection around the house. His best friend's word had been enough to relax him somewhat.

He still wasn't sure what Granger's intentions had been when she'd come to visit, but he doubted more and more that they could have been harmful. After all, if she meant him harm, why would she stop coming to see him?

However, he couldn't stop his other irrational fears from resurfacing.

He had no certainty that someone wouldn't come here to take revenge on him and kill him. Nor was there any proof that everything he had been experiencing for the past two weeks was real. What if it was a hallucinatory potion that the prison wardens had made him ingest? Or was it the effect of the Impero that had been thrown at him? Or perhaps he had died, killed by his own hand after giving in to the temptation of the razor blade he had been given?

Dozens of scenarios were open to him, only postponing the moment when he would finally pass the door of his room. He needed more certainty before taking the plunge.

oOo

Two more days had passed.

He had managed to ask Pansy for a watch. She had brought it to him the day before, unquestioningly. She hadn't even hidden her surprise when he had spoken to her for the first time. She hadn't commented, but he had seen her eyes fill with tears. He wished he had been able to take her in his arms to reassure her, as he had done during the war. He was unable to do so, too afraid to feel anyone's hands on his body.

He still had trouble with Blaise touching him to heal him, so another physical touch? It was unimaginable. He was reassured that his wounds were finally healing, mainly because of the balm he applied morning and night. Blaise had seemed satisfied on his last visit.

Now that he knew what time it was, Draco could confirm his estimates. Granger left home at ten past seven. She would return at seven thirty. Not a minute later. Not a minute less. It was the same thing every day.

That left him twelve hours and twenty minutes to explore the rest of the house. That was his goal. Maybe he would find something interesting, something to occupy himself and stop spending his days lying in bed brooding and waiting for Blaise or Pansy to arrive. He was sure he could do it.

His mission for the day was to inspect the door. To check that there were no anomalies that could hinder him in his mission. To observe it from every angle to make sure there were no traps.

He had done everything else. His body had recovered enough from his injuries and various traumas that he was able to walk and move his arms for a short time. He was far too weak to walk for more than ten minutes, but it would be enough for what he intended to do in the first instance.

Moreover, the times when he had free rein were clear and precise in his mind. Seven ten, seven thirty. He would even have time to leave the room several times if he found the strength.

He still wasn't sure what was behind the door, nor did he know if this was all just a trick of his mind or the Azkaban wardens. However, he had managed to convince himself that there was no other way to be sure than to leave the room.

He tried not to think too hard about the situation. Every time he did, Draco couldn't help but tell himself that he was pathetic. Incompetent. Pitiful. What twenty-four-year-old man couldn't open a door without taking such precautions? He preferred not to think about it.

Draco carefully left his bed , dressed in a pair of light blue striped pyjamas that belonged to Blaise, and walked slowly towards the door. His hands began to tremble and he clenched his fists to stop them. He stared at his bandaged knuckles for a few moments to recover from his emotions. He felt his knees ready to give out at any moment, but did his best to resist. He put his hand on the bed frame to keep himself upright.

The door was only a metre away from him. Two more steps and he would be there. Two more steps and he would be able to lift his arm to operate the handle.

He didn't. He remained frozen, one hand still on the bed and the other with a clenched fist. He didn't even pay attention to the headaches that were starting to return. His heartbeat had quickened. He tried to convince his body that he wouldn't go any further, that today wouldn't be the day he would walk through that door, but it wasn't enough to calm his anxiety.

His thoughts turned to disaster.

What if Granger came back without him seeing her and suddenly opened the door? What if anyone entered the room? What if it was all an illusion?

He closed his eyes to try to control his anxiety. It was no use. He had slipped back into it.

A lump had formed in the pit of his stomach and Draco had come to understand over the years that it was an irrevocable sign that he wouldn't be able to calm down until he slept. He was unable to remove this weight of anxiety except by lying down and forcing himself to sleep. It was a vicious circle. He dreaded this sensation more than the anxiety itself.

It evoked so much suffering and bad memories that it was an instigator of anxiety. A never-ending whirlpool into which he remembered plunging every night of the war. Only exhaustion managed to ease that lump in the pit of his stomach.

So he gave up. The situation had become uncontrollable. He preferred to avoid it. He would come back to it later.

He took a deep breath, backed up a step, then two, then three, and his knees hit the mattress almost painfully. He let himself fall onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

His first thought was of his mother. She had been the only one who had managed to calm him during his anxiety attacks, especially during the period following the affixing of his Mark.

A tear rolled down his cheek. He promised himself he would try to ask Blaise to see her next time.

A few minutes later, he was asleep.

oOo

Blaise had sent him a small piece of parchment at sunrise to warn him that he and his wife wouldn't be able to visit him for three days. This news hadn't pleased Draco, on the contrary.

He had planned to finally have a short chat with his friend – and not just the exchange of a sentence or a few words – and now he would be completely alone for several days.

This had been the case since his release, but never for so long. Pansy and Blaise made sure to visit him every other day, maybe three at the most.

He didn't really know how to take this new information. He spent a good hour brooding over it, sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at the door, as was his wont.

Eventually, he managed to convince himself of the absurdity of his concern. He had lived alone in a cell for seven years, he could survive without his friends for three days. At least, he tried to convince himself of this and did his best not to think about it any longer. If he didn't think about it, there was no problem. He could almost have laughed at the ease of such a statement.

With this subject aside, Draco could concentrate on his main objective of the last few days: walking through the bloody door of his room. If the day before had ended in total failure, ending in an anxiety attack, he didn't intend to stop there.

He looked at his watch, which showed eight o'clock, and decided to get going.

He left the covers of his bed and retraced the exact same route as the day before. In a few steps, he found himself facing the door and took long breaths to motivate himself. He still had no intention of opening it, not this time, but he had definite plans.

When his heartbeat had calmed and his breathing returned to normal, he slowly began to lower himself. While holding onto the bed, he put one knee on the floor, then the second. The effort caused some pain in his ankle, shoulder and back, but he tried not to pay attention.

Then he slowly raised a trembling hand to the door and laid his palm flat on the dark wood. No reaction. So it wasn't bewitched; it wasn't a trap.

This reassured him more than he would have thought.

He blew out a breath and leaned forward until his face was level with the underside of the door. He'd watched it from afar enough to know that there was enough space between it and the floor for him to see something through.

His heartbeat quickened again as he approached the small slot. Light was coming from it, faint but strong enough to leave a halo under the door.

He moved his hand up to it, fingers trembling, to put them through the slot. No reaction either. He swallowed and closed his eyes. He had to calm down his racing heart.

He then embarked on the most difficult stage of his journey: peering under the door. He still remembered doing it when he first arrived in Azkaban, without much success. Then, when he'd changed cells and finally had access to light, he hadn't seen anything there either.

A whole host of hypotheses came to him as he lowered his head, but he tried to put them aside. He took a deep breath.

Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing at all.

The only thing he could see was a carpet, which partially blocked his view. He could see the legs of what looked like a seat, but nothing else.

He sat up, both disappointed and reassured.

What had he expected?

A trap, his mind suggested, or clues to where he lived, or that someone was waiting for him there. But there was nothing. Which was quite… okay.

He fell back against the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands. He felt so foolish for not being able to stay calm because of a simple door. He felt weak.

Weak. Pathetic. Pitiful.

oOo

Today was the day. The long-awaited day.

He had prepared for hours, hardly slept because of the stress and had even mentally programmed each step he would have to take. He hadn't seen the time go by.

Two days had passed since he had looked under the door. Just enough time to get over it, to motivate himself and to take it all in. He hadn't felt ready to do it before, it had been too hard. His anxiety had returned stronger than ever, and his thoughts of his mother had become more frequent.

He had thought a lot about this. Since his release from prison, he hadn't heard from her once. No letters, no visits, not even a mention from his friends.

But he was deep in denial. He didn't want to speculate anything. He remained convinced that her silence wouldn't last much longer, that she would come to see him or send him a letter soon. She must have been busy. She must have found work, or some new activity. Because there was no other explanation, right?

He stood facing the door, his eyes closed, his breathing calm. He had been doing his best to keep it slow for several minutes now.

He would have to be careful. Take his time. He had all day. It was eight o'clock, Granger was gone, her white monster too, so he was at peace.

He opened his eyes again, resolute, then slowly reached for the handle.

When it came into contact with the cold metal, he shivered despite himself. He couldn't tell whether it was from stress or from the temperature. Probably the first option.

He turned the handle slowly, mainly because his hand was shaking too much for him to do it any faster.

The sound of the door unlocking caught him by surprise and he jumped. He remembered perfectly the sound, very like this one, that the door of his cell made when it opened. He hoped that it wouldn't squeak.

It didn't. It was very light, so he hardly needed to pull on the handle for it to open. Perhaps even too quickly for his taste.

Without being able to help himself, he closed his eyes tightly when it opened. It was as if his body had expected to be hit and his mind added to the apprehension.

But nothing. Still nothing.

"You're safe here," Blaise's voice reminded him.

He opened his eyes again, full of fear. After days of anxiety at the mere thought of opening that door, he was there.

The door opened onto what seemed to be a corridor, which he didn't dare enter. His heart was beating rapidly and a ball of anxiety was beginning to form in his stomach. He had done enough for one day.

A black velvet seat faced him. Four dark wooden legs—he had been right.

The carpet was a very dark blue, almost black. It was laid out right in front of his door, in a semicircle. It had a few white diamond patterns on it. Nine, by Draco's count.

He didn't dare look away or beyond. It was enough. He couldn't bear to do more.

He took a step back and closed the door, before letting himself slide to the floor against it.

Without being able to control it, he burst into tears, which he stifled by placing his hands over his mouth. He had kept himself together throughout this ordeal, trying to put on a brave face.

"For whom?" a small voice inside him whispered.

But now that he had succeeded, without being hurt, killed, or anything else, his emotions were overflowing.

He had succeeded.

This chapter has been illustrated! As I can't put an image here, you can find it on my instagram "novafrogster", on Wattpad, Twitter or Ao3 (links in my bio).

The fanart's from dedicatedtomyself, you can find their works on Instagram!

And that's it! See you on Sunday 12/11 for the next chapter!

Thanks to Acciobraincells, DontStopHerNow, habon and kreimal for their support.

Don't forget to leave comments and follow the story to support me ;)