TW: ED+++ for this chapter. Please read the end notes, they're quite important!

Blaise wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers for the tenth time in half an hour.

Since stepping off of the lifts, he had nervously been pacing back and forth, glancing at the clock hanging in the corridor of the Ministry each time he passed it. He was unable to stand still.

He prepared for his meeting with the Minister by repeating yet again the words he'd rehearsed and learned by heart. Blaise had been looking forward to this meeting for weeks, as it was crucial to the cause of imprisoned and released Death Eaters.

Many people were counting on the proper execution of his mission. He couldn't bear to disappoint them.

Pansy had reminded him of this heavy responsibility earlier that morning when he left their flat for work.

"Don't forget that lives depend on this meeting, Blaise," she had said, before kissing him on the corner of his lips.

It was impossible for him to forget. The significance of his mission weighed on him constantly and he knew the various consequences that this meeting could have.

The door to the Minister of Magic's office opened. Blaise turned to face him.

Kingsley Shacklebolt commanded respect with a simple glance. Tall and broad, he didn't need to raise his voice to obtain silence, attention or authority. His presence alone was enough to be noticed in crowded rooms like the Atrium. His piercing black eyes seemed to read every person who crossed them.

Blaise was always impressed by Shacklebolt, despite their differences. While he had never liked that the Minister dealt with the Death Eaters in such an aloof and objective manner, Blaise had to admit that he was a great wizard and an even greater leader. Disagreeing with many of his ideas and political choices did not stop Blaise from having a deep respect for him. He deserved his position.

"Mr. Zabini," the Minister greeted him.

"Minister," Blaise replied politely.

There was no longer any place for his anxieties. He had to swallow them and remain focused and professional for this.

The Minister waved him in and let him pass. Blaise had been there so many times, he almost knew it by heart. Each visit was for the benefit of the Death Eater cause, never in his own interest. Each time, he defended the hearts and souls of his clients, trying to convince Kingsley of the innocence of his former comrades and the importance of freeing them. Each time, he received the same answer: it was not the minister's responsibility alone.

Shacklebolt was neither his friend nor an acquaintance. It was really a cosmetic relationship. Outwardly, they got on well enough and worked cordially. However, internally, Blaise was aware it was all strategy and demagoguery.

"Tea?" proposed the minister.

Blaise politely declined, having no time for niceties. He needed to get straight to the point.

"Sir," he began after clearing his throat. "Did you receive my letter?"

"Which one?" Kingsley teased gently as he settled into his seat to face him. With a flick of his wrist, he wandlessly summoned a teapot and cup and poured himself some tea. Blaise was always impressed by the minister's magical abilities, but now was not the time to congratulate him.

"The one where I asked you when you intend to invoke Law No. 493, which states that the Minister of Magic may force the passage of a law if a majority of his advisors agree with it, despite a majority of the full Wizengamot assembly refusing."

Other than a raised eyebrow, Kingsley's face remained neutral, and he did not answer. There was a long silence, but Blaise did not become impatient. He was used to this kind of reaction from him. He would wait as long as it took.

"You want me to pass a law that would allow prisoners to receive monitored mail? What's in it for me?" he asked Blaise conspiratorially.

The question stunned Blaised and he realised that things wouldn't be so easy. He'd almost forgotten that the minister had become the perfect politician–manipulative and egotistical. Despite how wise he considered Kingsley to be, Blaise resented the way he'd succumbed to the possibilities of power. Once a socialist oriented towards the Order of the Phoenix, Kingsley, like so many others, now had a self-serving agenda. Only Elphias Doge continued fighting with the same faith as at the end of the war.

"What do you want?" Blaise blurted out.

He knew that it couldn't happen any other way, so he complied with his superior's demands. He promised himself that he would tell Pansy as soon as possible. He didn't want to disappoint them. Not again.

oOo

With a heavy heart, Gregory put down the letter a warden had slipped under the cell door. His hands trembled slightly and he found it hard to swallow. It was as if something was preventing him from doing so, as if the weight that had just fallen on his stomach had obstructed his oesophagus to the point where he could no longer swallow.

He did not cry. He was incapable of doing so. He hadn't shed a tear since his first years at Hogwarts. Gregory still carried the scars on his fingers and back from the abuse his father had inflicted to ensure he wouldn't.

He felt like throwing up, screaming, tearing his head off. He wanted to forget who he was, to never have existed. He looked at the window of his cell every day hoping the bars would disappear so that he could get through and end the suffering.

His daily hell had just been fed by a new tragedy.

Blaise's thin, slanted handwriting might as well have been a knife slicing into his heart. Gregory could have been dying on the floor of his cell and it wouldn't have made much difference. He was suffering just as much on the inside.

"She would have wanted you to live on, Greg. Keep that in mind and fight. We'll be there the day you get out."

That was Blaise's last sentence–last thing Gregory read before he returned to his unending pain in the depths of Azkaban.

oOo

"You're being selfish!" Ginny shouted, her cheeks brimming with tears.

"I'm selfish? You have to be kidding me! You're the one who wants to go home, not me!"

"You told me yes! You told me you would go home with me!"

This had been going on for fifteen minutes already. Astoria had exploded with anger when she found the portkey tickets Ginny purchased to return to England.

Since then, she'd been shouting nonsensical arguments to convince Ginny to stay with her. However, once she realised that this would not be enough, she attacked more viciously, using her fiancée's weak points to get her way. Ginny hated her for it.

She felt the trust she placed in Astoria dissolve like sugar in her tea. She could see it crumbling, each word from her mouth growing the divide between them.

"I lied," Astoria said in a biting tone.

Her cruelty further broke Ginny's heart and caused her to flinch. Things were different this time. Her confidence in their love and what they could overcome together was burnt, decapitated, drowned, blown away, crushed. There were not enough words to express how betrayed she felt.

"I thought you would change your mind–that I could make you change your mind."

Ginny didn't answer right away. Her eyes were shining with tears that she did not bother to wipe away. She didn't understand this sudden turn of events. She'd been planning this for days, excited to finally see her family again, going as far as to send a letter to her mother announcing her imminent arrival.

Her whole world was opening up under her feet, promising an indefinite fall into the void. The look Astoria gave her was so cruel, so hard, that she wanted to disappear, to run away. She couldn't take it.

"You–You lied?" she finally said in a trembling voice.

Astoria clenched her jaw and turned her eyes away. They were shooting out lightning bolts and Ginny felt them strike her heart one by one, smashing it to pieces.

"I thought I could change your mind," she repeated, clenching her fist.

Ginny held back her sharp retort. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then retreated to the kitchen of their flat.

They were renting the place in New Delhi until they could return to the UK or find a new destination, according to Astoria's words.

Ginny felt betrayed and broken. She couldn't believe that her fiancée–the woman she'd loved for more than two years–lied to her in such a way.

She told herself to be strong. She wasn't going to pity herself, or chase after Astoria and give in to her desire to reconcile. She couldn't allow the deep pain in her heart to influence her reaction. She hated the idea of being rendered weak.

"You failed, then," she snapped, her back to her fiancée. "But you know what? Stay, Astoria. Stay if that's what you want. Don't come home with me. I wouldn't want to make you suffer for my return to England."

It was as if Ginny had shut herself off from all emotion. As if she had slipped a white sheet around her heart to protect it from reality. She was angry and she felt betrayed.

She could be as cold as Astoria, so she wouldn't allow her weakness for her to impact her choices and words.

She was lying to her and trying to manipulate her? Fine. Ginny would act accordingly.

She didn't want to follow her? Fine. Ginny wouldn't force her to.

"Is that what you want?" Astoria asked.

"Obviously, what I want has no place in this conversation," Ginny replied harshly. "You made promises to me that you don't intend to keep. I won't hold you to them."

"Fine."

Her fiancée's voice was so cold that it was enough to send the sheet Ginny had used to wrap her heart away. It was a distant memory by the time her tears pooled in her eyes.

Before she could react to it, the crack of an apparition echoed behind her. Ginny felt her knees give out under her weight, crashing to the floor and sobbing in the empty flat that Astoria had just abandoned.

What had just happened?

oOo

Hermione woke up with a start, sweating and breathing heavily. She felt as if her chest was being squeezed and no more oxygen could get into it. She was suffocating.

Her face was wet with tears or sweat. She didn't really know.

She'd dreamt of her parents. Their faces were as clear in her mind as if she'd just spent the day with them. She looked around desperately for them, a small part of her hoping they would come out of her bathroom and join her with arms wide open.

The dream made her feel as if they were still there–a part of her life she could go to whenever she wanted.

But it was a dream and could never again be her reality. She didn't want to accept it– grateful for the glimpses of them she still had, even if only a figment of her subconscious.

Every year it was the same when the weather turned colder. Something about the nip in the air triggered thoughts of the people she missed more than anyone. She was reminded of the Halloweens and Christmases of her childhood. Of her parents' wedding anniversary on October 28.

Dreaming about them was enough. It was more than enough.

She wasn't sure what the dream was referencing. A memory? A trick of her mind? Her imagination?

In it, her mother and father were arguing, she was sure of that. But she couldn't recall what it was about.

Something about teeth, or food. Something they knew well and disagreed about. She was sure it concerned her.

But as she tried to retrieve the contents of her dream by searching her mind through the memories that mixed food and teeth, her stomach let her know it was hungry. Her fingers tightened in the sheets as she felt it. She hated this feeling.

She tried to distract herself by wiping her face, drawing her focus to the sweaty smells around her, or untangling her hair from its elastic.

It worked for a few moments–just long enough for her to get out of bed and open the bedroom window and breathe the fresh October air. Long enough for her to close her eyes and catch one last glimpse of her parents' faces behind her eyelids before the remnants of the dream slipped from her mind.

Then she felt them again. The hungry cries of her belly. The cries of need from her stomach, which was not actually in need of food. She had eaten dinner. She was eating properly.

The last time this happened to her was over a year prior, just after she'd sent a letter to Harry and Blaise agreeing to marry Malfoy. It commenced over a week of horror.

She tightened her fingers around the window frame as she thought about the bad memories. She didn't want it to happen again. Things were going so well. If it happened now, she would ruin them. She always ruined everything.

She felt her conscience give way and her body screamed at her to let go. She was so close.

It was as if her demons, which had not approached her for a year, were coming back to pull her down toward an endless, winding abyss. They were calling her. They were shouting at her to join them, to let go and give in. They promised her that she would be satisfied, that she wanted it as much as they did.

Because she wanted it too, didn't she? And who could stop her?

Her hands trembled around the damaged wood of the window.

She wanted it, didn't she? That was what they kept telling her. Endlessly.

She was hungry, all of a sudden. She felt herself giving up. She wanted it. She wanted it terribly.

Why stop herself? Why resist? She didn't have an answer, not anymore. It escaped her every time she looked for it. She had known it only a few seconds earlier. But it had escaped her. She didn't know why she had to resist anymore. She wanted so much to dive in, to let herself go.

It was so much easier. So tempting.

Her feet guided her towards the door, thinking of nothing but giving in.. The demons became little angels on her shoulder, congratulating her for not resisting. They promised her satisfaction. And she believed them. Because there was no one to contradict them, was there? Only them and their incessant talking, exhilarating her as she walked down the stairs to the ground floor.

She wanted it so badly. Running now. Rushing, unable to do anything else.

Because that was the best way to satisfy herself, wasn't it? So she didn't think about anything else. She was alone with her thoughts. With her body. With herself. No more nightmares. What nightmares?

Her parents no longer existed. They couldn't blame her, she thought. She couldn't even hear her mother's voice scolding her anymore. There were only the angels, yelling at her to run.

The light from the refrigerator burned her eyes, but she didn't care. Her eyes glazed over and crazed. They were searching for something. Something important. Something that would relieve the emptiness she felt inside her that she had to fill at all costs. She wouldn't be satisfied until it was done.

Malfoy had left a new cake in the fridge–a wonderful dish of tiramisu. There was also a piece of his apple pie left over from two days earlier and a bowl of chocolate mousse from the day before.

She got it all out, moving frantically.

She didn't like tiramisu, yet the first bite seemed exquisite. The slice of apple pie didn't last long. Neither did the chocolate mousse. She licked every last bit and crumb of the desserts from their containers.

She still felt empty.

The tiramisu dish was still half full. She grabbed a large spoon and attacked it again, not minding the coffee taste that burned her tongue.

"More, more, more!" the angels shouted.

The empty plate made her feel nauseous, but that did not stop her.

She's purchased a cooked ham from Marcel, a stick of butter from the milkman and a baguette from the baker. In a few movements, she whipped together a perfect sandwich.

Her body was beginning to suffer, but the angels were distracting her too much to address it. Her mouth was full, the butter was too greasy, bits of ham stuck to her chin, but Hermione ignored it all.

"More, more, more! I'm hungry!" they kept saying.

She was out of breath, but she kept going. She had some potatoes left in the fridge from the night before. She devoured them too.

Who could stop her? She was hungry. She needed it. Her body needed it. Didn't she?

Didn't she?

She was shaking. Her throat blocked with every swallow. But Hermione kept going.

Until the angels became demons again and shouted at her to stop.

"Look at you," they said in a voice that sounded like her mother's. "You're going to be fat. You are going to be enormous. A sow in the middle of the field, you'll just have to roll in the mud!"

She dropped everything in her hands. The tears were flowing without her realising it. She cried silently as she ran towards the kitchen window.

And soon, the sounds of her choking and throwing up filled the silence of the night.

Hi, friends!

A little information!

First of all, I have decided to slow down the pace of publication for a while. The end of the year is approaching and I'm going to have a lot of work to do for the university, so I'm going to have to slow down my writing and translation. So I don't want to lose momentum and I'm not sure I'll have time to translate the chapters every week. So the chapters of this story will be posted every fortnight for an indefinite period.

Secondly, I am pleased to announce that I have created a discord server for people who read my stories. It brings together my French and English readers, with English and French parts. You are all welcome! I'm very active there and I'd love to talk about the Dramione, my stories or anything else with you! Here is the link : discord . gg / hZCNNjER8H (without spaces).

And finally, I want to thank Acciobraincells, Dressedpencil and rapunzerelli for their amazing work and help on this fic!

Don't forget to comment and suscribe to the fic to support me!

Xx

Nova