Three weeks had passed without Draco even noticing.
The routine that had settled between him and Granger, and the fact that he was gradually getting his bearings on the first floor of the house, had kept him from thinking about the passing of time. It was simple. It was natural. He didn't need to think.
He often woke in the library in the middle of the night with a book on his chest and his body across the sofa. He would then go to his room, swallow a dreamless sleep potion as a precaution, and go back to sleep as if nothing had happened. It was simple. It was part of his life, his daily routine, now.
He had spent enough time in this new room that he felt just as safe there as he did in his bedroom. He wasn't afraid of being attacked or caught there. He felt comfortable in it, he felt like he belonged there a little more. It was natural.
He would walk in and see the books he had left lying around the day before, the cushions were always set up so that he could sit comfortably on the sofa and his bookmarks weren't moved. Everything he did in that room stayed after he left. And that was the irrefutable proof that he lived there, that he had a right to it.
Time passed and he continued to evolve in this library, which had become his second bedroom.
The only real time markers had been Pansy's visits. Since her privileges had ended, she had managed to visit him twice in three weeks. The first time by portkey and the second by Muggle transport.
Draco had almost laughed when she had told him what a journey it had been. Then he had remembered that he would have no choice but to use muggle transport too, for the rest of his life. That had been enough to torment him. One day he would have to learn to use it, to stop using magic. He would have to unlearn everything he had grown up for.
According to Pansy, it was Granger who had told her how to get to France from England, by train under the Channel. That alone had been enough to confuse Draco. A train under the sea? It didn't make sense, it was even dangerous! Pansy had also seemed to be confused by using such an unusual method of transportation.
After that, she had been content to apparate from Calais to the Pyrenean countryside and join them.
Draco had realised that his best friend and Granger had become quite close. He'd suspected it, since the Zabini couple had called on her to free him, but had thought, at first, that it was all because of Potter. He was slowly realising how much he owed to his housemate.
However, the fact that Pansy's eyes lit up when she spoke of her discussions with Granger wasn't misleading. He had seen her come down the stairs to join her after each of her visits, whereas he was content to stay upstairs. He could have been jealous. But it was simple and natural, so he didn't care.
Draco hadn't asked about his other friends. In fact, he rarely spoke, which explained this silence about Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, Graham Montague, or even Gregory Goyle, Astoria and Daphne Greengrass. It would be complicated, it would be too much at once. He had enough on his mind with trying to settle into his new life, he didn't need to further complicate it by asking the whereabouts of his other friends. After all, he may not like the answer, as was the case with his mother.
He knew that the Greengrass' were free since they had never been marked. They had stayed out of the conflict and never got involved. He remembered almost resenting them, jealous that his family couldn't do the same. Back when he was still convinced that there was no other way to save himself and his family. Now he understood their choice. He wished he was in their shoes.
He'd gathered from one of Pansy's monologues that Astoria was going around the world with Weasley #7. As for Daphne… Pansy hadn't brought the other Greengrass sister up. She had preferred to talk about herself and Blaise. That was enough for Draco.
He knew that Theo had been released and was living his perfect love life with Potter, which hadn't been a surprise. He had been stunned, however, by the bitterness with which Pansy had spoken of them. She seemed to resent them for reasons unknown to him. He hadn't expected tensions to arise, especially now that the war was finally over. Hatred towards the Death Eaters and those who had collaborated with them? Yes, he had predicted it, and according to Pansy, it was still the case after seven years. Nevertheless, he never expected it to turn out this way. Potter had supported Theo from a distance during the war when his father beat him and forced him to attend Death Eater meetings, and Potter had bailed him out of jail. So why was she angry with him?
He hadn't asked any more questions and Pansy hadn't mentioned it again.
As for the rest of the boys… Draco only knew that they too had been locked up. Had they been released? He had no idea. He hadn't asked. He avoided thinking about Azkaban and the other Death Eaters. He'd never really been close to them anyway. The only one who might have mattered to him was Goyle, but he didn't have the energy to worry about his fate.
The only thing that sometimes made him think about all this was the cause of his father's death. Blaise had told him a few days after the news of his mother's passing. He hadn't dwelt on the subject, however. Draco suspected that he had told him to avoid a second backlash and hadn't wanted his grief to become too entrenched in his mind.
Which couldn't have happened.
Draco had never been as close to his father as he had been to his mother. Lucius hadn't been affectionate, without being violent or disrespectful. He had raised Draco to be a perfect replica of himself, without wanting to create any emotional bond with him. Draco Malfoy, the worthy son of Lucius Malfoy, raised to do great things. Ironic, when you think about it. Draco was ashamed of what he had become because of him.
So he hadn't felt much of anything when he learned of his father's death. He'd remained unmoved, simply saddened by the idea that his mother had been grieving for her husband, knowing that she was very close to Lucius.
The rest was of little importance to him.
He had imagined the various deaths his father had suffered, but never had the answer. A suicide in Azkaban? That would have been complicated, he himself had been unable to do it. A fight? There was no reason why his father should have had access to the common areas, unlike him. At the hands of the guards? Likely. An assassination? Even more likely.
He promised himself to ask Pansy the question the next time she came. Or in a letter. He hadn't tried that yet. That was one of his next objectives.
For the moment, he had others in mind. He had visited the rest of the rooms on the floor—except for Granger's room, which he hadn't dared enter after opening the door—but he hadn't reverted to his old reflexes and habits. He hadn't touched a pencil since his arrival and often read Pansy's concern in her letters about the lack of response. She kept saying that it would do him good, that it would take his mind off things. Perhaps she was right.
Nevertheless, he was desperate to get to the ground floor and discover the rest of the house. If the library was of interest to him, the other empty rooms, filled with strange and frightening Muggle objects, weren't. So he had to find some motivation to explore the rest of the house and do whatever it was that frightened him very much. It all seemed ridiculous when he thought about it.
However, getting down the stairs was proving to be a much more complicated ordeal than he had expected. He had moved the chair in the hallway directly in front of the stairs several times to get to know them better, to no avail.
He had the feeling that if he walked through them, he would be faced with an infinite number of new things that he wouldn't be able to deal with or categorise. Perhaps he would have access to the outside. Perhaps there would be other strange creatures to avoid. Maybe there were dangerous muggle objects too. Too many possibilities.
He didn't feel ready. He was afraid.
So he had ended up putting it off until later. His next goal was much more important. At least, it required preparation.
Indeed, he had received a letter a week earlier, informing him of the upcoming visit of the Potter couple. It had been signed by Theo. It was Draco's very first contact with him since his release.
And it had put him in a state of confusion.
A mixture of jealousy, sadness, fear, nostalgia and joy had formed in his heart.
Jealousy at not being able to write as well, to take Muggle transport, or even to leave the house he had been living in for three months.
Sadness at having spent so much time away from his friends. Sadness at being able to do nothing but read books on a couch that turned out not to be as comfortable as it looked.
Fear of not being able to talk to Theo. Fear of not being able to bear his presence. Fear of meeting him again. Fear that another person would enter his room.
Nostalgia to relive all the happy memories he had shared with Theo.
Joy to see his friend again, to see someone close to him. Someone who would perhaps understand him.
Fear. Fear. Fear.
Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd been sitting by the window since Granger brought him breakfast. From what he'd heard, Potter had warned her that they'd bring lunch. Was it time already? He hadn't seen the time go by.
This had only made Draco more anxious. This wasn't in his plans. It wasn't what was supposed to happen. He wasn't used to it, he couldn't predict what would happen and act accordingly. How could he stay sane if his routine was disrupted? If he couldn't eat his cold lunch alone and quietly in his room?
He ruminated about it and imagined all sorts of things that could happen as soon as the Potter couple arrived. Of this lunch. Of this day.
What if it was a trap? After all, he didn't know Theo's handwriting by heart. What if they had an impediment and didn't come? What if Theo no longer considered him to be his friend? What if they asked him to come downstairs?
He was starting to panic again. He could feel it in his rapid heartbeat and his sweaty hands.
He had been staring at the path to the front door for three hours now, glancing at his watch every ten minutes. Theo hadn't given any arrival time and neither had Granger. And that didn't help Draco's composure.
He was sure that without the dreamless sleep potion, he wouldn't have closed his eyes all night.
Eventually, as the hour hand aligned with the minute hand at precisely twelve o'clock, Draco heard a strange noise echoing in the surrounding area. A sort of rumbling sound, as if something was scraping the gravel on the ground and crushing it. He felt as if it was getting closer and it only made his heart beat faster. He was almost tempted to close the bedroom window. Wynn was sleeping in her nest anyway, he wouldn't risk leaving her outside.
What was that? The more seconds passed, the more his desire to hide burned in his chest. He was afraid.
After a minute of more strange theories, an object of considerable size entered his field of vision. His eyes widened as he recognised some kind of magic car. At least that was how he interpreted it.
It was unlike anything he had ever seen in his life. He remembered his father's words about it, about how pitiful and reductive it was for wizards to modify muggle objects to get around.
He had seen caricatures of these evil objects in the comic strip Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, and had heard about them from Millicent Bulstrode, who had used them because of her parents' work. He had seen them a few times, but had never used them, nor had he ever really approached them. His parents had done everything to keep him out of the Muggle world, or as little as possible. Escort apparitions and floo trips had kept him out of the wizarding world, but he had been forced to pass through it occasionally, or to glimpse its contents on some trips.
However, the car that drove along the road was quite different from the ones he had seen when he was younger. It was separated into two parts: the first was closed and seemed to be reserved for the passengers and the second was open and contained objects that Draco couldn't make out from the distance. It was entirely yellow.
He thought about the fact that it was probably a basic model of "car", but one he had never seen. After all, it wasn't as if he was a professional in terms of Muggle vehicles. They scared him far too much for that.
The car stopped at the gate with a thud. Silence returned to the surroundings and Draco could almost hear his heartbeat.
After a few minutes of nothing happening, he saw Potter's trademark messy brown hair come out of the left side of the car.
Draco frowned. Had Theo been driving? After all, in his memory, the driver of these evil things was always on the right.
He quickly forgot this concern as he saw his friend get out of the car. His eyes widened. He had expected Theo to be as thin and pale as he was, even frail and ill.
However, seeing his friend's lightly tanned skin, clothes that looked almost too small for him, and a pair of glasses on his nose, Draco realised that his treatment in Azkaban had been quite different from his own. It was incomparable.
He clenched his fingers in his lap to keep them from trembling. Jealousy overcame the joy he had felt at finding his friend. He felt it swelling in his heart and leaving no room for anything else.
Why did Theodore seem so at ease, so calm and healthy? Why hadn't he suffered as many horrors as he had? Why were his eyes not filled with the ghosts of his past, his suffering, his wounds?
He looked down at his too thin body floating in Blaise's tight-fitting clothes. His rough, skeletal hands. His beard, which he hadn't wanted to trim for a while. His ribs that he knew were visible under his skin.
He swallowed. He didn't understand. How was it possible?
He watched Potter walk around the car and grab Theodore's arm to escort him to the gate. The latter seemed more curious than anything else as he watched the surroundings with wide eyes.
Again, Draco gritted his teeth. How could he be so calm in a place that was unknown to him? How could he stand and move forward, even though he didn't know where he was headed? It was beyond him. He couldn't understand it.
Eventually, unable to take in any more of the happiness he hadn't experienced in years, Draco moved away from the window and went back to lie in bed, his head buried in a pillow.
oOo
"It'll be alright," Harry repeated for the fourth time since they left. It made Theo wonder to whom this sentence was really addressed.
His husband had placed a hand on his thigh, which he occasionally stroked with his thumb when he didn't need to use it to drive the thing they were in.
Harry had explained to him that he had got his Muggle licence a month before his release, as he knew that they would no longer be able to travel with magic. So he'd bought an old second-hand minivan that hadn't seen much use, so that they could travel quickly if necessary.
It had taken Theodore some time to get used to such a vehicle. He had heard of them in his youth and had seen a few when he went to London, but he had never used one.
The first time he had sat in it and the car had started, he had felt so sick he had thrown up. It was a very unpleasant memory. Harry had urged him to try again until he got used to the bumpy ride. He had thrown up a few times and lost all the colour the sun had given his face, but eventually he had managed to sit in the passenger side without getting sick.
On the way to the Pyrenees, Harry had preferred that they stop at a small Muggle hotel for the night. Thus, Theodore hadn't had to endure a five-hour journey, much to his delight.
To his surprise, Theo had become accustomed to the Muggle customs that Harry was gradually teaching him. He was always amazed to discover the technologies of people he had always underestimated because of his parents.
Cars were one of them, but so were refrigerators, telephones, ballpoint pens, and electricity in general. It had become a habit between him and Harry. His husband would bring him a Muggle object every day and teach him how to use it.
Theo still used his wand, although he had struggled to get the hang of it at first, but he was also happy to use Muggle things that sometimes proved more useful than magic.
He had discovered a whole host of Muggle drawing materials that he had never heard of in the wizarding world. Watercolours and pastels had been incredible finds for his creations. Wizarding painting was mainly limited to magical acrylics and oil paint, which was often insufficient. To say that he now spent much more time in his studio since he found new materials was an understatement.
Theo had tried to bribe his husband to take his drawing things to Granger's house, but he had been talked out of it. There would be better things to do, after all.
The night at the hotel had proved more difficult than Theo had imagined. If he had become accustomed to sleeping with his husband in their manor, a shoddy hotel in the middle of the French countryside was a different story.
In fact, he had hardly slept at all. He had swallowed potions to wake himself up behind Harry's back, so that Harry wouldn't worry. He knew Harry would take him home to get some rest and he didn't want to miss his reunion with Draco, no matter how scary it was.
They set off again midmorning, in order to arrive in time for the lunch Harry had kindly prepared the day before.
"You're stressed," Theo said, turning his head toward his husband.
"Not at all," Harry lied, removing his hand from Theo's thigh.
"Why are you stressed?"
"I'm not stressed, Theo," Harry growled.
"I thought you'd kept a good relationship with Granger."
"I have."
Theo knew from his tone of voice that he was lying. He was tense, his hands were clenched on his steering wheel, and he ran a hand through his hair at regular intervals.
"Did something happen between you two?"
"I'm telling you everything's fine, Theo," Harry snarled, turning his steering wheel to the right to follow the road.
Theo sighed heavily, irritated in turn.
"You're lying and I know it," he replied as he opened his window with the button his husband had pointed out. He took his packet of cigarettes from his right coat pocket and lit one with his Muggle lighter. Another useful invention when he couldn't use his wand.
"Give me one," Harry asked.
"Only if you tell me the truth."
Harry huffed in exasperation, but Theodore didn't give in. He wanted answers. He had no desire to barge into Granger's house and be subjected to any kind of tension without understanding the reason for it.
"I feel bad because I haven't been there for her for the past few months and I'm afraid that has permanently broken something between us."
Theo didn't answer right away. He considered his husband's answer in silence, now understanding the state of mind Harry was in.
It didn't surprise him. Harry had shown such attachment and devotion to him that Theo wasn't surprised to learn Harry had abandoned the rest of his friends to take care of him. Not that Theo was condoning it.
Harry had stayed with him constantly in their manor—apart from a few trips back and forth to Britain to sign paperwork related to his old job—but he'd imagined that Harry had exchanged letters with his friends via owl. At least, he had never denied it when they had talked about it.
Theo had been wrong. He had deluded himself with naive optimism. Everything wasn't so simple.
"It'll be alright," he replied, placing his hand on his husband's thigh.
In the distance, the Granger house loomed.