Draco hadn't tried it again. He would simply leave the door open and sit on his bed for the rest of every day. He would close it five minutes before Granger returned. He didn't want to risk losing all his progress.
So he would just observe the bit of the corridor he had access to. No one was passing by, he was definitely alone. This had calmed some of his worries; he no longer worried at the slightest creak in the wall or when he heard the wind hitting the windows of the house. Despite this, he was still unable to do more.
In two days he had been tempted several times to go and close the door in the middle of the day, finding the opening far too difficult to bear, but had restrained himself. He would wait for Granger to return. It would be worth it, he knew. But how? He had no idea, but deep down, Draco felt he would be satisfied later.
His next challenge would be to sit in the chair he had spent hours detailing. A black velvet, very elegant, and looking particularly comfortable. Four legs, two armrests, a few threads sticking out of the old seams. By doing this, without going any further, he would have the opportunity to see the rest of the corridor. Perhaps he would discover interesting things, things that would keep him going, that would keep him busy.
Because although his days were filled with ruminations and self-inflicted brain torture, Draco was getting bored. He was going in circles in this little room.
Nevertheless, taking this step forward wouldn't be easy, he was aware of that. It would probably take him a full week to get there, but he was determined. He would sit in that chair.
As he finished the jar containing his lunch, the unmistakable sound of a portkey echoed through the room. He almost dropped the container in surprise. He turned his head sharply towards Pansy, who had just appeared at the end of his bed.
"Good morning, good morning!" she exclaimed as she pulled a bunch of glass jars out of her bag and placed them on the nightstand. "I'm sorry I'm a bit late, the courgette took longer to cook than I thought. I've made you enough food for four days, though as usual, I'll come back before that."
Draco followed her with his eyes as she removed her blazer and settled comfortably into a chair she had just conjured for herself. The rapid beating of his heart was gradually calming down. Pansy then began her little monologue, as she did every time she visited him. It had become a habit for him, something he knew. She would speak and he would listen attentively.
Unlike Blaise, she never shied away from doing so, not at all bothered by the fact that he didn't answer. It was as if she took advantage of these moments together to dwell on her life over and over again. A kind of escape, Draco thought.
"What a week! I think I may have found a buyer for the shop, but we haven't signed a promise of sale yet, so I'm keeping my guard up. From what I understand, he wants to turn it into a Quidditch betting centre, it's the new fashion. Now that the national teams are active again, people are scrambling to make money. I wonder why that wasn't the case before. It's as if suddenly everyone understands that sport is a way to make money!"
Draco thought to himself that he would have liked to be able to follow the sports news, but didn't mention it. He had a completely different idea in mind. He had to succeed in talking about his mother, he had to succeed in opening his mouth, in communicating. That was his only objective. He had been thinking about it for a few days. He barely listened to Pansy.
"Anyway, it doesn't matter, as long as I sell him the shop, he can do whatever he wants with it," she sighed as she flicked open the bedroom window and took out a cigarette.
Draco watched her silently. She always smoked when she came to see him. It had never bothered him. On the contrary, he missed it. He remembered how much smoking had helped him relax in sixth year. Perhaps his body was slightly addicted to the smell; he didn't know.
In any case, he was focused on something else. He kept repeating his question to himself.
"Blaise has been helping me all weekend to go through the laws that concern Azkaban and the released prisoners. Initially, I wanted to focus solely on..."
He had completely dropped out. His gaze was focused on the open door. Had Pansy seen that the door was open? Yet it was. He had opened the door. The door was open. She should have noticed! That was new, he had opened the door.
Since when did he need Pansy's congratulations so badly?
But that wasn't all. That door– his mother had never walked through it. And that created a deep emptiness in him. She had abandoned him. His mother wasn't there. She had never come to see him. He shuddered. He wanted her to congratulate him too! He wanted her to hug him and comfort him for all the years he had spent alone away from her.
He tried to clasp his hands in his lap to keep them still, but it was a complete failure. He was in a trance.
He was alone. His mother hadn't shown up. She no longer loved him. Perhaps she had never loved him. He had no one.
Pansy must have finally noticed that he was somewhere else, because he vaguely heard his name. He didn't answer.
The door was open. The door was open. She should have noticed it. It was suddenly very cold, there was a kind of draught. It must have come from the door. Perhaps a guard had deliberately cast a spell in the cell to make it cooler? A guard came to torture him. To hurt him.
But he wasn't in Azkaban. So where was he? And his mother, where was she?
He suddenly locked eyes with Pansy and exploded.
"Where's my mother?" he blurted out as he sat up on the bed and reached over the mattress to her.
His whole body was shaking. His heart was pounding. He was hyperventilating. His eyes were wild.
He was gone.
oOo
Pansy froze as she heard him ask this question.
It was the second time he had spoken to her since his release from prison. She could hear his voice again. He had spoken to her. That deep, vibrant voice, made hoarse by days of not speaking. That voice she would have recognised among a thousand. The voice of her best friend.
However, she realised all too quickly the meaning of his words and a weight fell in her stomach. What she and Blaise had been dreading for almost a month had happened. They hadn't spoken of Narcissa, expecting Draco to do so on his own while he recovered from his shock.
She couldn't imagine the grief Draco would go through. He, who she knew, loved his mother more than anything in the world.
Still, she remained completely silent. She had no idea what to say. She could already see that his condition was catastrophic. What would happen to him when he learned that his mother had died?
She could see him practically convulsing on the bed, but she didn't move. She was panicking. She, too, was beginning to shake. She didn't know what to do. He had disrupted all her plans. She had come to talk to him about her projects, to prove to him that she and Blaise were acting in the interest of his peers, but certainly not to face such a thing.
She began to sob, unable to do anything else. She clamped a hand over her mouth.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Draco, I'm sorry," she repeated over and over, reaching out a helpless hand towards him.
He cowered in on himself, shaking. His eyes were revolting. She had never seen him like this. It was as if he was possessed by his deepest demons. A panic attack of the most powerful kind. She was completely frozen with fear and anguish.
"Where is she?" he asked again, in a barely audible voice. "Where is my mother?" he repeated, trying to contain the jolts in his body.
This only added to Pansy's miserable state. She huddled in her seat and put a finger on her wedding ring, rubbing it lightly. She was unable to do anything else.
"I'm sorry," she repeated. "She's dead, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
oOo
Blaise shook hands with one of his superiors and saluted him before leaving his office with a dejected look.
Another failure.
He had just spent more than two hours in an appointment with one of the conservative members of the Wizengamot, asking him to support his next bill. He had, of course, refused again.
Blaise wanted to reduce the minimum sentence for Death Eaters to twelve years. It was a fight he had been waging for nearly a month. Once done, it would allow Gregory Goyle to be released, and also lighten the long sentences of some Death Eaters, including the probations of those who had already been released. He found the conditions of the prison so inhumane that he even sympathised with those who would be locked up there for over fifty years.
But what mattered most to him was that divorces would be possible sooner.
He had heard in the corridors of the Ministry that Percy Weasley – also a well-known lawyer, but on the anti-pardons side – had fought tooth and nail alongside Lavender Weasley to have Fenrir Greyback locked up for longer.
Blaise couldn't help but smile when he heard this, despite his strong dislike for Percy and Lavender. Greyback was known for misdeeds affecting so many families that Blaise had been happy to send a letter–albeit slightly hypocritical–to his fellow lawyer to congratulate him on his plea. The werewolf was the only Death Eater for whom Blaise had no sympathy when he thought of the horror he must be living in Azkaban.
May he rot in hell.
He had also heard that Adrian Pucey had been released, thanks to his lawyer Katie Bell, whose squib sister, Elisabeth Bell—now Pucey—he had married. This news had caused a stir in the media, just like the announcement of the Saviour's marriage to the son of one of the worst Death Eaters, Theodore Nott, or that of the daughter of the 'Golden Trio', Hermione Granger to the infamous Draco Malfoy.
Blaise had initially wanted to defend his clients' names in the press, but his wife had talked him out of it. They had to stay focused on their main objective and not get bogged down in such trivia. Besides, it might do the clients a disservice.
Rita Skeeter had written most of these articles. As a member of the anti-pardon faction herself, she had taken pleasure in writing lots of front page articles, spitting on the Death Eater lawyers, the Wizenmagot, the Minister, or even the Death Eaters themselves. Liberty of the press, she claimed.
Blaise would have loved to take revenge for all the slander she'd said about him, his wife, or his clients by publicly exposing her illegal animagus status. Pansy had quickly set him straight, once again reminding him of Skeeter's platform and how it could hurt their allies.
He had ended up allying himself with Luna Lovegood, the newly appointed editor of the Quibbler, after her father's unfortunate death while hunting the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Although he didn't like the young blonde at all, because of her quirks and her inability to ever listen to anything he said to her, he had no choice but to call on her "talents" as a journalist to defend his principles and his battles.
He had an appointment with her in fifteen minutes to discuss the next article, but he was stopped in his tracks when he felt his wedding ring magically vibrate around his ring finger.
His eyes widened and his heartbeat quickened.
There was only one explanation for this phenomenon: Pansy had a problem.
And Pansy never had a problem. Pansy was fine. She had to be fine. She was fine, wasn't she?
In no time at all, he was running through the corridors of the Ministry and shoving people in his path. He had to get to the Atrium as soon as possible. He didn't even pay attention to the insults of the witches and wizards he had pushed, or even the surprised looks of the others.
He knew that Pansy was with Draco for lunch. He had to be quick. Very quick. It couldn't wait.
"Out of the way!" he shouted as he rushed towards the lifts.
Fortunately for him, the doors to one of them opened in front of him and he entered at full speed. He pressed the button a dozen times for the lift to start.
As the elevator began to move, he was filled with theories.
Granger had attacked her. Granger had attacked Draco. Albert had bitten Pansy. Albert had bitten Draco.
Draco had done something stupid. Draco was dead. Draco was injured.
Pansy was hurt. Pansy had done something stupid. Pansy was dead.
This last assumption made him dizzy.
Panic coursed through his veins like venom. His head ached and his feet tapped so quickly that he wondered how the lift could still be working.
Eventually the lift stopped and he could run again. He hurried to the Atrium floo, but not without jostling a lot of other wizards and witches along the way. That was the least of his worries. He didn't care anymore. He could have been fired on the spot and simply replied that he wanted to see his wife.
When he was finally surrounded by large green flames, he let a sigh escape from his lips. He was almost there. Only a few more seconds and he would be with her.
He arrived at their flat and hurried to one of the portkeys the Ministry had given him. With a simple spell, he triggered it.
A moment later, he felt his belly button being pulled back.
His wife's cries reached his ears as soon as he set foot on the ground and his panic only increased. It was one of the sounds he hated most in the world. If there was such a thing as a magical creature that made the noise most frightening to victims, that noise would probably sound like his wife crying.
His eyes were wild as he searched for her. When he finally laid eyes on her, he rushed towards her and fell to his knees.
"What's the matter? Are you hurt? Are you hurt anywhere? Pans', answer me," he implored her, grabbing her hands.
She was sobbing so hard and fast that he wondered how she managed to catch her breath. His wand was drawn, just in case.
He straightened up and cupped her face, then rested his forehead against hers. He was terribly worried. Nothing else mattered but her right now.
"Pans', my love, answer me. What's going on?" he whispered, gently caressing her cheeks.
"I–I can't–t stop crying," she replied, grabbing her wrists.
"Are you in pain somewhere? Are you hurt?" he asked after nodding in understanding.
He needed to stay calm. For her sake.
"N–no –"
He sighed with relief and gave himself a few seconds to recover.
She was fine. She was fine.
He continued to stroke her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her forehead.
"Did something happen?"
She nodded between his palms, unable to say anything. She was gradually calming down and her sobs had stopped, but her breathing was still rapid.
"Did someone hurt you?"
She shook her head.
"Is this about Draco?"
She froze against him, before bursting into tears again. She fell into his arms, crying her eyes out, her face pressed against his robes.
Blaise realised then that he had been right. If his anxieties had calmed down for a moment, they were coming back with a vengeance. If Draco was affected in any way, he wouldn't recover either. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. Not yet. He couldn't bear to relive the panic he'd felt upon finding his best friend bleeding in his room.
So, while gently rubbing his beloved's back, he lifted his head and turned it towards the bed in the room. He saw, for the first time since his arrival, that Draco was curled up on top of the covers, his body shaking.
He swallowed. Again. He found him in a pitiful state again. He was cursed.
Merlin, what in the world had happened...
He picked up his wife under her knees and back and carried her to the bed, where he laid her down to Draco's right. As he walked, he noticed that the bedroom door was open.
He frowned. This wasn't normal. Was that the cause of all the commotion? Had Granger been coming in here?
He crouched next to Pansy after laying her down and pondered the question, stroking her cheek gently to calm her down.
Draco looked completely panicked, all sobbing and agitated. He was in the middle of a panic attack, Blaise recognised it immediately. He had seen so many of his friends and family have them after the war that it had become almost routine for him to deal with them.
He knew what he had to do. He couldn't do otherwise, he knew. He drew his wand and cast an Accio.
In the distance, a few sounds of breaking and glass could be heard, before two vials filled with a midnight blue potion landed in Blaise's open palm. Dreamless sleep potions.
He grabbed his wife's face, kissed her forehead tenderly and stroked her cheeks.
"It's all right, my love. I'm here," he whispered before he parted her lips with his thumb to administer the potion.
He waited patiently until she fell asleep, tears streaking down her cheeks.
He sighed heavily, before walking around the bed and giving some to Draco. Soon the sobs and rapid breathing were a distant memory.
oOo
Hermione finally saw her house at the end of the road, followed closely by Albert. She was exhausted. It had been a particularly long day, especially after having to put away all the books from her last order on the shop shelves.
So all she wanted to do was curl up under the covers of her bed and sleep for hours, even days. She didn't even have the strength to make herself food. She wasn't hungry anyway.
As she had often done in recent days, she missed most meals. She ate when she felt her body was on the verge of total exhaustion. She hadn't shopped in a week and wasn't planning to for a while. In the end, Malfoy was eating far more than she was. Yet, the cupboards were still full, the meat being the main commodity to be emptied little by little, because of Albert's meals.
She would have to content herself with serving him his bowl, before finally being able to go to bed. She had been dreaming of her bed since the postman had come to her shop, letting her good mood burst forth within the walls of her bookshop.
As she opened the door to her house, she drew her packet of cigarettes from her leather bag and lit one, placing it between her lips. This was her daily routine these days. A cigarette on the way home from work, to end the day well. A good way to relax, although not as good as the calming potions.
As she approached the front door, she frowned as she discovered light in the living room. Had she left the light on when she left?
She tightened her fingers around her wand, suddenly worried. She could already imagine being invaded by creatures of darkness or dark wizards. What if Death Eaters had found her? What if they had come to kill her? What if...
She gritted her teeth. She was terrified. She could feel her toes curling into her shoes relentlessly. Her heart was pounding.
Albert must have sensed her sudden fear, because he began to growl softly.
She took a deep breath, then violently opened the door and pointed her wand at potential attackers.
"Expelliarmus," said Zabini nonchalantly from one of his chairs.
Immediately Hermione felt a tremendous panic come over her. Her cigarette fell from between her lips and landed on the floor. Her blood pulsed in her ears and she looked around for a way out. She was helpless. Albert was barking loudly as he approached Blaise at a snail's pace, his fangs out.
"Calm your dog and come sit down, Granger. We have to talk."
She turned her panicked gaze to his. She clenched her fists, already on the defensive.
"What are you doing here? How dare you disarm me in my own home?"
"Sit down, Granger. Don't make me repeat myself a third time," he ordered in a cold, stern tone.
He was still pointing his wand at her and Hermione swallowed.
There was nothing she could do. He could hurt or stun Albert with a simple spell, so he would be of no use to her. It was awful. She was lost. She wanted to cry, to scream. It had all been a mistake; she should never have trusted him. She was terrified.
So she resigned herself, though panicked.
She had thought that Zabini was a friend, someone she could rely on and not be afraid of... She had obviously been wrong.
"Lie down, Albert," she whispered to her dog in a trembling voice.
All of her fighting spirit was gone.
She shakily dragged herself to the sofa facing Blaise and sat down uncomfortably. She tapped her foot, not stopping to look for a way out. Her fingers were shaking uncontrollably. She felt on the verge of fainting.
She was already imagining that she would have to move to avoid being found. At least, if she stayed alive...
"What have you done?" asked Blaise abruptly, gesturing at her with his wand.
She immediately frowned, more confused and frightened than anything else. She didn't understand anything. She was terrified.
"What are you talking about?" she asked in a trembling voice, tears forming in her eyes.
"Don't fuck with me, Granger!"
Her eyes brimmed over as she tried to figure out what he meant. She couldn't understand anything.
"I–I–"
"Explain to me why I found my wife and best friend in that state!" he bellowed as he stood up, losing all self-control.
She cowered in on herself as she saw him approaching like that. She didn't understand anything that was happening. Albert started to bark and to get in her way, but Blaise stopped him with an angry spell. He had no mercy left. He was enraged.
"I don't–I don't know," Hermione sobbed, hiding behind her elbows. "I beg you, I didn't do anything!"
She was crying heavily, completely defeated and panicked. Albert was lying on the floor, as if dead. She couldn't take in everything that was happening. It was a nightmare. She was going to wake up, wasn't she? Wasn't she?
"Liar! The door was open! The–The door was open," he repeated with less conviction as he approached again.
"I don't know," she cried, cowering into the chair.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stop. She wanted to disappear, for everything to stop. She couldn't take it anymore. She felt as if her heart would leave her chest any second.
"You don't know?" he asked in a less aggressive tone.
"No," she promised, shaking with fear.
"I– "
He fell silent.
She only sobbed more, terrified that he would hurt her. There was nothing she could do.
"I– Sorry," he whispered before she heard the crack of an apparition.
When she slowly raised her head, he had disapparated.
And that's it! See you on Friday 12/16 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 ;)