We finally land back with Severus, who stops dead at our faces, mouth half-ready to speak.

"Never mind," I say wearily, mentally and physically fried. "How did things go here?"

"As well as can be expected," he says, clearly deciding to move on after a sideways look at us both. "Come in here so we can talk."

More talking is the last thing Blaise or I want to do, but this is important. I try to clear my mind and focus, pushing what happened over the past hour to the side. It's beyond difficult and I do a shabby job, but I hope it'll help.

Blaise has no such Occlumency skills and looks devastated and exhausted in general. I'm not sure he's going to remember a word that's said here, and I try to re-double my own efforts to concentrate on his behalf.

"He's furious about the snake," Severus says quietly, even after the room is sealed with a variety of privacy charms and silenced. "He didn't talk about the implications of it, of course. He was trying to present this as a rote check of what we're doing here."

At this, he looks at me pointedly, and I realise none of us has said the word 'Horcrux' out loud. Understood.

"But he was pleased with our security, for the most part. He didn't mind the lack of captives we now hold, believing, it would seem, that the ones we've gotten rid of have been distributed to all corners of the continent and bound in various forms of slavery."

"That's good," I manage feebly. "Get Ginny out as soon as you can."

"Ginny, yes, and I'll begin working on Ron," Snape confirms. "He didn't mention Ron outside of a passing interest. His entire focus was Potter and Granger," I wince, "and her simulation in the dorm was enough to visually satisfy him. But I don't think it'll hold up to close scrutiny. He had a lot on his mind tonight and was obviously distracted. If he hears more detail about the simulations we've created, he's going to want a personal inspection. We must be prepared for that."

I feel a blockade in my throat and can't take in a breath. Of course he will, sooner or later. How long can I keep Granger away from him?

"We also must be prepared for the possibility that he decides to check in personally on some of the captives we've sold already, to the families they were supposedly purchased by," Snape finishes, and I have another sinking feeling. Of course he might. Why wouldn't he check the security there, too?

Everything we're doing feels so impossible. How can this ever work for long?

I've never been more glad of a weekend.

I collapse in bed and stay there halfway through Sunday, letting the elves drop meals on a side table near me.

I hardly pick at them. I have no appetite.

('You don't know what love is')

The following week, we have another financials meeting and I groan, outright dreading it. I've been rededicating myself to work as the best distraction available to me, and it's been helping.

Blaise seems to be doing the same, but neither of us mentioned going to the pub last Friday for a pint. Looking at Blaise reminds me of Granger, and I can only imagine it's the same for him when he sees me.

But it's a good opportunity to catch up with Snape after the meeting about the progress on Ginny, if nothing else. I'm surprised though, when Severus tells us she's already gone.

Blaise is not surprised, however, and I realise Snape must have informed him in advance. He didn't mention it. He must not have gone back in to see her one last time.

I can't blame him.

"The Weasley family is having trouble raising the money to pay for Ron, though," Snape concludes. "Having the third- and fourth-most popular captives, back-to-back, is difficult for them. They're doing their best to collect money to help, but Resistance-adjacent families and supporters have been funding the release of these captives for a long time now."

"How short are they?" Blaise asks quietly.

"Probably another 3,000 galleons," Snape responds curtly.

Blaise and I both start to speak, but I beat him to it.

"I'll do it," I say with a heavy sigh. "It's the least I can do for Granger. The sooner, the better. If I can't get her out, at least I can get her tosser boyfriend out."

Snape surveys me and I give him my open, miserable look. Have at it, Severus, I think at him. Nothing left to hide here.

"Can you?" he bluntly asks and I suppose it's a fair question.

I cross my ankle over my knee and lean back. "Yes, as a one-time thing. Once Blaise took over covering Ginny's hours, things have loosened up a bit. I can make it work without involving my trust - meaning my father."

Snape's brow furrows slightly and I think again how he's in contact with my father, in some capacity. I still don't know how deeply, or what they communicate about.

But I don't have the mental real estate to bother with it just now. If my father knew the minutiae of what I've been doing here, he'd have confronted me about it long before this.

My world narrows and I wonder what I ever did with all my spare time outside of my job.

Date? Who the hell wants to date?

Once upon a time, I enjoyed potions. I have a lab here, in the Manor, that I used to tinker around in for fun. It's collecting metaphorical dust.

I avoid our library. I've been in too many libraries and bookshops lately.

There's a large field on the Manor grounds that I used to use for flying practice. We even have hoops I could raise for scrimmage matches with friends (friends?), but even a makeshift Quidditch pitch like this one gives me awful echoes of the last one I was on.

('How could you?')

The idea of flying in general makes me think of Muggle travel and enjoying the scenery, and I shut that down, too.

Blaise and I eventually re-start our Friday nights at the pub after work, if only to appear somewhat normal. I'd heard whispers around the office that we'd had some sort of falling out and while that's better than the truth, I'd rather people found nothing to whisper about at all.

We heard of another pub a block further down from ours that has live music on Friday nights, and that's perfect.

The bands vary, but they have a few things in common. They're all loud and obnoxious, and mentally occupying. Girls may want to dance but they can't hold a conversation without screaming it, and no one seems much inclined to bother for long.

It's easy enough to fake our way through a few hours in public, and maybe we even pull it off.

In a mental moment alone, I start to compose a note for Granger. Severus can slip it to her, maybe, after our next financials meeting.

I start and fail several times, balling them up and lighting the final one on fire.

I know you might get lonely by yourself. If you do, send a note back with your meal tray and Severus can get it to me. I can come, or Blaise can come.

And then what?

'Hard pass, you prick. How about Harry or Ron instead?'

'Never contact me again.'

'I hate you.'

'I hope you die on that battlefield from that hypothetical Nundu.'

'You don't know what love is, you stupid, bloody arsehole.'

In the end, I sent one anyway. I don't expect to hear anything, but given that Granger might actually die of boredom or general isolation, I should at least give her an option to communicate with the outside world - as limited as it may be for her.

I can't avoid my parents forever and I joined them this evening, as requested.

I'm not sure if it was Suz's idea or not, but tonight the elves

('slaves')

have prepared one of my favourite meals: roasted chicken, peas soaked in butter, delectable rolls with the mouth-watering aroma fresh bread gives off. I give my little house-elf a small smile and mouth, 'thank you.' She returns with a small half bow and disappears back into the kitchens.

My father quirks an eyebrow at this but says nothing. Wise of him. I'm a bit short of temper lately.

Actually, I've been caught somewhere between feeling exhausted - for no reason, as I do almost nothing but work and come home these days; I mostly keep the hours of an old lady - and feeling irrationally irritable.

I've no desire to begin the conversation and instead set to enjoying my chicken. My once-exceptional patience levels swing wildly between that, although now I think I'd classify it more as extreme disinterest in the proceedings around me than any particular proficiency in Occlumency, and hair-trigger impatience.

Tonight, I'm disinterested.

My parents are talking quietly amongst themselves and I feel a sharp flash of annoyance about it. Why did I need to be here at all? I grab another thigh and attack it viciously.

We're nearly done with dinner before my parents even address me directly.

"How are things at the park, Draco?" my father asks, and I nearly roll my eyes at the small talk.

"Brilliant," I respond, trying to tamper down the sarcasm, since this much is true. "Revenues are excellent. It's all humming right along as we'd hoped."

But I don't want to talk about the park. I've only to make it through pudding before I can escape and I go on the offence.

"How have your travels been going lately?" I ask my father politely, hoping there is enough here to work with for at least several minutes of banal conversation.

He finishes a sip of wine before responding, "Quite well. I suppose you've heard certain things about the war activity."

"I suppose not. What war activity? We won the war," I say blandly. We did, after all.

"There is an undercurrent of… potential Resistance activity appearing in small pockets around Europe." He motions to an elf to bring more wine and I'm distantly pleased to note his relatively neutral demeanour towards her.

"The Dark Lord doesn't control the rest of Europe." I raise one eyebrow. "Why do we care?"

My mother dabs her lips with her napkin and shifts in her seat, undoubtedly re-crossing her legs at the opposite ankle. She looks at my father expectantly.

"We care," Lucius graciously explains, "because the Dark Lord is concerned the ripples of Resistance might make a resurgence here in the UK."

Where was he when the snake was killed? Were they here or abroad? I desperately want to ask but know better than to reveal I know about Nagini's assassination.

"It sounds like it must be more than 'ripples,' or he wouldn't be concerned. How much Resistance is beginning to rise?" A shrewd question that I hope works its way back to the snake.

My father gives me an appraising look, one I think might be tinged with approval. I used to care about that a lot more than I do at the moment.

"Enough that I've pledged our aid to the Dark Lord, which doesn't surprise you, I'm sure. We will have another houseguest soon. I expect you'll be on your best behaviour, Draco."

Now, that's just insulting. "Why wouldn't I be, Father?"

Never mind that I dread the stay of rampaging Death Eaters or even the Dark Lord himself back in this house. But I do know what is expected of me and no; I'm not surprised my father offered the Manor once more.

But then I have flashes of Granger screaming and writhing on the drawing room floor as my aunt carved into her arm with a silver knife, and swallow hard.

If something like that were to ever happen again, I would not stand by a second time. I would not be on 'my best behaviour.' So maybe my father has a point after all, even if he doesn't know it.

He's been studying me silently as I work through all of this, and finally says, "We're missing quite a few books from the library."

I freeze for a split second and attempt to cover by lifting my goblet to my lips.

"It would be… prudent if those books did not make a reappearance here anytime soon. It's best that they remain outside our library at this time. Do you understand?" Only his mouth moves when he speaks like this. It's really quite fascinating how still he can be when he's intent on something.

Nevertheless, I know what's expected of me here as well, and it's not as if I don't see his point. "Of course, Father. And don't concern yourself; I'll spend as much time in my own wing of the Manor as humanly possible."

"I hope so, Draco. Your mother and I would rather have you uninvolved but I'm sure you'll do as you wish either way," Lucius says softly, his eyes glittering. They look nearly black in the fading candlelight of the dining room.

Alright, then. This seems like enough to be going on with.

"May I be excused?" I ask, wiping the corner of my mouth and rising from my chair before either of them can affirm the request.

But my mother catches me again at breakfast - her breakfast, anyway, tea near her conservatory as she reads the paper. She calls out to me as I head for the Floo to go to work.

"Draco, darling. Tania Nott needs a date for a family wedding next weekend. Theodore's first cousin, I'm sure you remember."

I can't stop the exasperated eye-roll this time, despite my best efforts. "This again? How many more weddings do you know of, Mother?"

"Many, in fact. People your age are getting married, you know," she shoots back, her own blue eyes glinting at me mischievously. "Theodore will be there, of course, and I thought you might not find this engagement quite so encumbersome. Can I tell the Notts that you'll be glad to accompany Tania?"

I sigh heavily. Why not? It'll pass the time. I can catch up with Theo. "As long as you are using the word 'engagement' in the broadest possible sense, I suppose so. When is it?"

"Saturday. Lovely, then. I'll set it all up." My mother rises from her chair to kiss me lightly on the cheek. "Thank you, Draco. I appreciate your assistance with the Notts."

"'Assistance,'" I grumble as I start to walk away, then calling over my shoulder, "I know what you're doing."

"Draco, wait," she calls out and her voice sounds strange, hesitant and unsure, not at all like Narcissa Malfoy typically sounds. I stop and turn, looking at her inquisitively.

"Come back, darling," she pleads with me and it's so foreign to me that my feet obey before I have a chance to think about it.

I stand in front of her little tea table and wait, not very patiently, until she finally says, "You're so plainly unhappy, Draco. I just want to help. A nice girl -"

Well, I certainly don't want to talk about this. Not now, not with my mother. Not at all. "I'll accompany the Nott girl, but I won't promise anything more. Don't go blathering to your book club that I'm courting Tania Nott."

"I do not blather," Narcissa says haughtily, highly affronted. "But neither will I say anything if you don't want me to -"

"Why would I want you to?" I interrupt.

"- even though half of society will be there and see you for themselves."

I groan. "Never mind. I don't want to go."

"No, no, too late now," she insists, even though it most certainly is not. She gives me a silent beseeching look and I heave a gusty sigh.

I seek Severus out for the first time in what feels like a month or more. It must be. When did I last summon Snape instead of the reverse? Back when Granger was still willing to talk to me. Hopefully he's been able to make good use of all his new spare time, now that Blaise and I aren't driving him mad.

But after what my father said over dinner the other night, I have to know what he's hearing in regards to Resistance activity. I have no idea how informed Severus is to matters that don't directly involve the captives in the park, but it's worth asking.

Strangely, I find my mind able to focus on this like I've not had in weeks. This is cutting through the fog of relative apathy, the haze of disinterest in everything around me.

I made the transfer of galleons for Ron's release weeks ago but I have no idea if he's been smuggled out yet or not. It's completely immaterial to me, really, when he leaves. I thought it would make me feel a little better, that I was able to do something good, something kind that Granger would have done, but it just makes me feel worse that I can't do it for her as well.

('Are you saying that if he has a chance to get her safely out of here, you'd say no?')

I might have once. I probably would have, then, if I'm finally going to be honest with myself. The idea of Krum getting her to freedom, freedom she could use to reunite happily ever after with Weasley - or Krum, who knows? - was more than I could stomach. But not now. If she had a chance to go, I would want that for her.

She deserves better than me, better than the one who denied he even fancied her for years, who was so embarrassed at the very thought of being attracted to the bushy-haired swot that he shoved it down so deeply it took multiple people to confront him with the truth.

Better than the one who stood by and let her be tortured in his own Manor, too afraid at drawing ire to himself to do anything for her. Better than the one who was perfectly content to keep her here, Obliviated and trapped, and even after she was only trapped, still content to keep her for himself.

The one who couldn't even look at her as a person once he admitted his attraction, and lived exclusively through the head of his prick for weeks and weeks.

The one who risked her hard-earned trust by getting into her knickers when she'd always doubt when it started and if she'd really been able to consent to it in the first place.

Maybe Tania Nott is brilliant, sharp, and bossy, has wild brown hair, is the perfect height with perfect curves, and big brown eyes, and is willing to smack me down a peg if I get out of line.

Maybe.

Fat chance, though, my eternally helpful brain whispers.

When I ask Severus, he confirms that Ron is gone. I absorb the news with indifference for a moment, then ask about the true state of the war - which is obviously not as 'over' as we'd believed two years ago. He studies me for a moment, maybe gathering his thoughts, maybe deciding how much to trust me. I can never read Severus, I've come to learn.

I've long since stopped trying to block him from my mind, and the openness behind my eyes seems to reassure him that I mean no nefarious intent by the question. He doesn't even try to pry.

"The Resistance is thriving," he finally says. "Not all of the rescued captives re-joined when they got out, but many did. Most did. As you know, Longbottom himself killed Nagini. Apparently Potter had told him the importance of it early in the final battle."

"And he never forgot?" I marvel quietly.

"Never forgot," Snape speculates, "or perhaps it occurred just prior to the memory line we imparted. It wasn't a perfect linear line, you know. Everyone was at a different place at different times. Either way, it was his first order of business once he was free."

"Where were they when it happened? The Dark Lord and Nagini? Were there others around?"

"Dunrobin," he confirms. "And details are still scarce. The Dark Lord, of course, will say almost nothing about it. He trusts no one. He certainly won't admit that she was a -" he mouths the word 'Horcrux'.

"Longbottom was Polyjuiced?"

"Yes, with a certain stroke of brilliance. It was a miracle he escaped alive, but if he'd died then and there, he would still have been disguised for quite some time. Reports are that he had a second vial of Polyjuice and after he initially evaded capture in the mayhem, he re-disguised himself under a second appearance."

Longbottom. Bloody hell. I reflect for a moment, then state, "He must have had your extended formula."

"He did." Snape surveys me again but does not elaborate further.

"How is the Dark Lord's state of mind at the moment?" I ask with caution. "Has there been any other development since Nagini's death?"

"Nothing overt," Snape says curtly.

"Where is Ginny? Ron?"

He eyes me for a long moment before responding. "The families can, of course, travel freely. To think they're free of suspicion would be naive, but generally speaking, the Weasleys are simply a bereaved family mourning the death of Fred and the captivity and enslavement of their younger children. As long as those children aren't spotted, they're safe."

Which doesn't answer my question. I quirk an eyebrow.

"They've rejoined the Resistance, of course, along with George. Charlie and Bill, I'm sure, never left it. They were never captured at all and had been in France all this time, with Fleur's extended family. Mr and Mrs Weasley are at home in the Burrow. The youngest three are surviving under extended Polyjuice, maintaining their covers."

I marvel again at what Severus has been able to do. How much of that Polyjuice development, a staggering evolution from the original, was intended for this all along?

"As far as where the Resistance is operating from, I don't know for certain. I'm not supposed to. Krum is the go-between for a reason. But my belief," he emphasises the word and looks at me meaningfully with his final words, "is that they're beginning to gather near Dunrobin."

This bloody wedding I've wished I could dodge ever since I agreed to it comes far too quickly. My only consolation is that my mother greatly exaggerated the attendance numbers of people we know. For how most weddings are done, this one is relatively intimate. But I have too much on my mind to fuss with being proper company for who my mother undoubtedly hopes will become a girlfriend.

I do enjoy catching up with Theo, who has Pansy on his arm in a stunning dark blue dress, startling against her jet black hair. I'm caught completely flat-footed at that, for some reason. I haven't seen Pansy in close to two years and had no idea they were together. In the end, though, it makes for a nice little reunion.

Tania is left somewhat out of the circle, not having attended school with the three of us.

She doesn't seem to hold this against me, however. I do my diligent duty, escorting her through dances and keeping my hands to myself. I am, in every way, a perfect gentleman, clasping her small hand with only the most perfunctory contact.

Annoyingly, this works to my disadvantage as she's clearly attracted to my manners and composure. She thinks I'm a great catch. If she only knew.

Tania does have brown hair, but it's too short, too well-tamed. Her eyes are more of a hazel and a little too small for her face. They fit her button nose well, but I can't be bothered to notice much. I can't see the shape of her arse through the cut of her dress, but I haven't wondered about it once.

She is, in every way, a perfect high-society girl, clearly looking for a marriage. It's time, she's been set to a task. Her comportment is flawless, her use of utensils unmatched. She never talks around her food.

But her conversation is dull and unengaging and I find myself deliberately provoking Pansy, of all people, with old embarrassing school stories just to hear somebody voice a temper around here.

These are raucously funny, and I accidentally find myself enjoying the evening - but not because of Tania.

It's not her fault.

She laughs along with everyone else, and I have to admit, even if you weren't part of it at the time, most of these stories are still very funny to imagine.

But by late in the evening when she lets loose a certain level of flirtation in this dignified setting - when she touches my hand with hers briefly, and brushes her breasts against my arm in a way I suppose I should find fetching, I am not fetched.

My mother declines to ask how it went, presuming, I'm sure, that she'll hear about it one way or the other from Tamara Nott. Suits me fine. She's perfectly capable of making an educated guess without my input, anyway.

We go back to status quo at Malfoy Manor, me Floo-ing in and out to work and basically nothing else outside of a pint on Friday night with Blaise. But even that is lacklustre.

I wonder how much to tell him about my conversation with Snape; Ron out, with Ginny, presumably on the front lines of the Resistance in what Severus suspects is outside Dunrobin Castle.

Merlin help anybody she encounters there. I stifle a small smirk and Blaise asks me what's going on.

Somewhat reluctantly, I tell him, but to my amazement he gives me a wide grin at the news.

"Good. That's good. That's where she's meant to be." He lifts his glass to me and I clink with him. "She was never meant to be on the sidelines. Not that girl."

His eyes are slightly bright and I give him a moment to hide it behind his pint as he turns to motion for two more.

"Aren't you worried about her?" I ask, genuinely curious.

He looks a little surprised. "Of course I am, but no more than I was when she was here. At least out there she has complete use of a wand and all the motivation needed to use it."

Well, fair enough. I sigh, but the melancholy is creeping back in. "This will be my last one, I think," I say as the second round of pints arrives at our table. I pay the bartender to close out the tab so I can leave when I'm finished.

"How are things, Drake?" he asks seriously. We never talk about this, so I guess it's justified, but I still don't like going into it.

"Shitty," I say curtly.

"Still nothing, then?" he says with real sympathy, as a statement rather than a question.

He means any contact at all. I'd told him about the note I'd sent in. "No." I take a steady pull of the pint. "If she wants to talk to someone, even if it isn't me - she knows how to ask. But nothing. And I won't push my presence on her again."

Thankfully I stopped after two pints. That has not been typical of Blaise and I until lately; only recently have we been more apathetically depressed at the pub rather than eager to get blisteringly pissed.

When I arrive home, I'm striding down the oversized hallway to my quarters when my father intercepts me. "Draco."

This is my wing of the Manor and his presence is unexpected. I jump slightly and try to hide it. "Yes?"

"Our… houseguest is here," he says calmly and my stomach sinks. Just what I need, and his hesitance makes me think it's the Dark Lord himself.

"She'll be in the East wing," he continues and it takes my brain several long moments to try and catch up.

"She?"

"I expect she's adjusting to her new surroundings now. Let's speak privately. Come in here," he waves, gesturing towards an empty study. It attaches to what used to be my potions laboratory, as a sort of office space, I suppose, but I never used it.

Well, apparently he means Granger. I'm so tired of feeling like everybody knows things I don't, like I'm constantly playing from behind the mark, so emotionally drained from the past couple of months in general, that I don't even speak. I just look at my father wearily.

"I volunteered our aid for a matter the Dark Lord is critically concerned about. He is worried about Potter and Granger being in the same location, the possibility they can communicate or even meet up. This is probably not completely unfounded, but he is… almost irrationally concerned about it."

Lucius looks at me evenly. His near-criticism of the Dark Lord should be notable but it barely registers. He's trying to read my face, but I imagine it's blank. I don't really know. I feel blank.

"Alright," I say dully.

"I bought her, Draco. For the purposes of the park, she's considered sold. For purposes of the Dark Lord, she's now imprisoned here, under our constant watch. He trusts me to do this job and I intend to keep her safely under lock and key here."

"And Potter?" It comes out as an exhale.

"Still at the park. He had no qualms with security in general, but no longer wanted them housed in the same place." His expression has moved to suspicion now, possibly at my lack of enthusiasm. But surely he knows things have fallen apart there; he's in contact with Snape.

"Why did you pick Granger, then? Why not Potter? He must be of a higher priority to the Dark Lord."

He takes his time before answering. "Your mother was afraid you were trying to replicate Snape's mist with your arithmancy and potions research. Rather than risk you smuggling the girl out yourself, we decided to bring her here."

"Right," I respond heavily and move to leave the room. "Well, you needn't worry. That hadn't occurred to me. I'm sure that concoction is far beyond my capabilities to reverse engineer anyway, and Granger wants nothing to do with me. I'll stay in my area of the Manor, as I originally promised."

My father doesn't stop me. He stares after me as I walk by, his face carefully masked, but there's no second layer to what I'm saying. I'm not playing any games with this. This just… is.

But as I climb into bed, I try to get myself better organised.

They thought I was going to try freeing Granger on my own, endangering myself in the process.

Of course my mother acted quickly, drastically. My father was probably pleased at the opportunity to offer something of great value to the Dark Lord. And maybe they even thought if Granger were here, where I had essentially unlimited access to her, I'd finally be content.

Once, I might have been, selfish prick that I was. But not now.

Now she's just in a different sort of cage, one she can actively blame me for.