Draco sent a letter to Potter, notifying him that he wouldn't be coming in to work today. He'd told Hermione that he felt under the weather and needed the day off, which wasn't exactly a lie — today marked the anniversary of the Dark Lord choosing to grace the Malfoy family with the gift of his permanent presence in their home. It was the beginning of the worst two years of his life. Of course, back then, he'd thought it was going to be the beginning of the best years of his life. He hadn't told Hermione about today; she had terrible memories of that time as well, and this was something he preferred to deal with on his own. Luckily, Ginny was in town and Hermione was going to meet her for drinks after work, so he would be able to spend the day hating himself in miserable solitude.

Selecting an expensive bottle of whisky from the shelf, he retreated to the loft, where he withdrew his concealed journal. He'd written in it nearly every day of school. Flipping to today's date, he began his annual tradition: reliving his worst memories and drinking until he passed out.

14 May 1996

Father says the Dark Lord is going to be living at the Manor, and he wants me to come home tomorrow for his arrival. It's a great honour and a sign of the trust he has in our family. Father thinks I might be ready to take the Mark soon.

Draco poured until the glass was full. Taking a long swallow, the liquor burned its way down his throat. He welcomed the pain. It was unfortunate that it faded so quickly.

6 July 1996

It's finally happened. I've been marked as one of the Dark Lord's inner circle. No one has ever taken the Dark Mark this young before.

He's given me a task. I can't write about it, even here, but when I succeed, the whole world will know exactly how much I'm capable of.

What a naïve fool he had been. Turning pages slowly, he skimmed the text. Shortly after taking the Dark Mark, he'd realised what a terrible mistake he'd made — that his mother's tearful begging had been for good reason. She'd tried to tell him, warned him that things were not as they appeared and encouraged him to stay in his room, to stay away from his father's friends. One furtive whispered warning stuck out in his memory: Once he chooses you, there will be no refusing, and once you are in, there is only one way out. His father had put a stop to his mother's "interference" quickly of course, reassuring Draco and forcing him along the path. His mother was right. There was no going back, and once he was within the inner circle, the level of brutality he witnessed (and was subjected to) increased exponentially. Everything had become too real, and there was no way out.

23 September 1996

Mother is scared, but I will find a way — there is no other alternative. Perhaps if Father hadn't botched things I'd have more resources, but I'm going to have to do this on my own.

His eyes skimmed across the pages, noting the gap in entries from 16 to 19 May 1997. Idly tracing the largest of the Sectumsempra scars across his chest, he recalled how close he'd come to dying, and how part of him had been relieved; laying on the cold, wet floor of the bathroom, choking on his own blood, he thought that he'd finally found a way out. Even after he recovered, he'd never been able to write about what happened — the desperation and relief he'd felt.

30 June 1997

He's dead. I couldn't do it, but he's dead anyway.

He said he could help me, that he could get me out. He said he could keep Mother safe. I didn't know what to say to him, but the choice was taken from me. Again.

The handwriting was barely legible. He remembered coming back to his room after retching late into the night, pulling out the journal, his hand shaking so much he could barely grip the quill. That night replayed behind his eyelids, a montage of horror: Dumbledore's sad eyes, his own wand lowering, "Now Draco, quickly," doors bursting open, Snape's eyes flicking to Draco, "Avada Kedavra," Dumbledore's body tumbling…

Draco emptied the glass. He'd fucked up. Fucked up so badly he didn't know how anyone could forgive him, especially her. One person had finally offered to help — had given him a way out — and he'd simply watched as he was murdered. Potter had told him everything; he knew why Snape had done it. It changed nothing; Draco hadn't known at the time. He was a bloody coward. Skipping ahead, he turned to a dog-eared page and refilled his glass — he was going to need it for this one.

27 March 1998

They were here. Fucking Granger is supposed to be smarter than that. How did she get caught?

I'm dead if anyone finds this journal, but fuck if I care. I'm probably dead anyway — or at least, I deserve to be.

I can't get her screams out of my head. I don't think they'll ever leave.

Is this what it feels like to lose your mind?

The Dark Lord was furious that they got away. I thought he was going to kill me this time. He made Mother and Father watch, of course.

If anyone had recognised Potter other than me, we'd all be dead.

They didn't.

But they recognised her.

I can't do this anymore.

His jaw was so tightly clenched it felt like it might crack. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relive the memory. Everything was still as clear as the day it happened. Footsteps on the stairs pulled him back, and he opened his eyes, skipping April's entries entirely.

1 May 1998

I'm afraid.

There'd been no more entries after that.

Theo appeared at the top of the stairs. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" he replied tiredly, snapping the journal closed.

"Pansy told me you might need someone around today."

"Of course she did," Draco sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"She's on her way over. I invited Blaise too." Theo eyed him up and down. "Have you eaten today?"

"No," he replied flatly, picking up his glass and taking another long drink without breaking Theo's gaze. He must be a sorry sight: unshowered, with stubble on his face and dark circles beneath his eyes.

Theo snorted. "Why am I not surprised? I told Pansy to bring some dinner. I've noticed you have a tendency not to follow your own advice when it comes to mental health." Theo fell into one of the other chairs after pouring himself a healthy measure of whisky and flicked the side of Draco's empty glass. "This is not a healthy way to cope with it." Draco rolled his eyes. "Though I will say, it's been a relief to learn you're just as fucked up as the rest of us."

"Do as I say, not as I do, alright," he said bitterly, refilling his glass. Letting Theo see him like this made him feel even shittier, given that he was supposed to be treating him. But Theo's presence was comforting, despite his intention of spending the day alone, and it wasn't as if Draco had much of a support network…

"I can handle it."

"Sure, Drake," Theo replied neutrally, sipping his drink before lapsing into silence.

The Floo flared to life a quarter of an hour later.

"Loft," Theo yelled.

Pansy came upstairs, levitating four plates of what looked like croque monsieur with roast vegetables on the side. Blaise trailed behind her.

"Looks great, Pans, thanks," Theo said warmly, kissing her cheek.

"Good to see you, Zabini," Draco said.

Blaise returned his greeting with a nod, face impassive as he took another chair.

Accepting the plate from Pansy, he set it to the side, conjured two more glasses, and poured drinks for the newcomers. A heavy, awkward silence fell over them. Everyone knew why they were here, and what this day meant. Nobody wanted to talk about it, which suited Draco just fine. There wasn't much to say, anyway. Draco noticed Blaise wasn't drinking — instead he kept shooting nervous glances at the whisky next to him and watching Theo's mouth every time he took a drink.

Pansy broke the heavy silence. "Draco, will you just eat it before it gets cold? If you're planning to pass out drunk, at least put something in your stomach first."

Not wanting to be hounded by the relentless witch, he complied, eating mechanically. The food was probably spectacular (Pansy's food always was), but it all turned to ash in his mouth.

"Blaise." She snapped her fingers at him. "You too."

Inhaling sharply, as if he'd forgotten how to breathe for a moment, Blaise blinked a few times as he returned from whatever memory he'd fallen into. He obeyed, eating with about as much enthusiasm as Draco.

He had been the first to come to Draco after hearing about how Muggle therapy had helped. Things were still very up and down for Blaise, who was dealing with a complex web of childhood trauma, guilt, shame, PTSD, and disassociation. His trauma often primarily manifested like this: he shut down completely in most social situations, even among this small group of close friends.

"I'm just struggling to exist right now. Everything is just… numb," Blaise had admitted in their last session, his voice cracking with hopelessness. The regression had come as a bit of a surprise, because from the outside, he appeared withdrawn but functional. It had seemed like he was making good progress.

He watched Blaise out of the corner of his eye while Theo and Pansy chatted. Because of that, he noticed Blaise freeze with his drink halfway to his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut as he slowly set the glass down and deliberately peeled each finger away, withdrawing his shaky hand. A measured breath escaped his lips as he stared straight ahead, his whole body tense.

Draco conjured a fresh glass, filled with sparkling water, and floated it to Blaise, swapping places with the glass of whisky. Theo and Pansy's chatter cut off.

"How long?" Draco asked.

"Thirteen days," he said hoarsely.

Pansy gasped, "Jesus Christ, Blaise, why didn't you tell us? We could have… helped or something. Fuck!"

He shrugged. "It's fine."

"I thought we promised we weren't gonna do this shit to each other anymore," she said, voice rising as angry tears brimmed in her eyes. "We're all we have left." Theo reached out and squeezed her arm.

"I'm really proud of you, Blaise," Draco said, replacing his own drink with sparkling water as well.

Silence fell again, quiet enough to hear the faint fizzing of bubbles in his glass. "You guys don't have to stay. I'll be alright, I promise."

"No, we don't want you to be alone today. You're always there for us. You came back," Pansy protested.

"After I fucking ran," he said, resigned. It would have been nice to finish the whisky before he'd switched to water.

Theo laughed morbidly. "Drake, we all ran at one point or another. That's how we survived."

"To self-preservation," Blaise toasted sarcastically.

"The important thing is that we all made it out," Theo added.

The silence that fell was contemplative this time. They'd all learned to be quiet, to keep their pain on the inside, to not let anyone see. The result was that they often came across as cold, calculated, and unfeeling to others, but it was the furthest thing from the truth. They understood one another, and so they sat together in silence, unable, or unwilling, to break it with something as insufficient as words to express the depths that they would go to for one another.

Hours later, Draco collected everyone's plates, and they gathered in the kitchen as he made them tea.

"Promise you will tell me — tell us — if you need anything, alright Blaise?" Pansy said earnestly.

"I'm… I'm not really the kind of person who can just do that, Pans, you know that," he said, wincing. "But I'll try, I promise I'll try."

Reaching out to hug him, Pansy pressed her face into his chest, her words coming out muffled. "You better. But just in case, would it be alright for us to take turns checking in on you?"

"Yea, I think I'd like that," he said, returning the hug.

"And you!" Pansy whirled on Draco, who held up his hands in mock alarm. "If you won't eat, I will show up and nag you until you eat something. I won't have you wandering around half-starved."

"It was just today, Pans, promise," he said

"That's not fair!" Theo pouted. "Why don't I get delicious cuisine française?"

Draco rolled his eyes… Theo would use any excuse to speak French — he used to do it all the time at Hogwarts — said it made him sound more sophisticated and that girls loved it. Draco thought it made him look like a posh git.

"Of course you can have some, darling," Pansy placated him. "We all know neither of you can cook for shit, and I can't have you starving, either. Or living off some terrible instant frozen meal, which is honestly worse." She shuddered at the thought.

"Well, we can't all run the kitchen of the most sought after restaurant in London, Pans. Some of us have to settle for the occasional canned tuna," Draco replied dryly.

Pansy's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Speaking of work… Are you getting any closer to world peace? I see none of the Aurors have hexed any bits off of you yet, which is a miracle."

"It's fine," Draco said, snorting. "Actually, Pansy, you should have seen what happened last week. Hermi— Granger made the mistake of inviting Theo into the Ministry. It went as well as you might imagine."

"Oh please, Drake. It was hardly an overreaction — don't embellish."

"Oh yes, screaming about teapots until Potter shows up is totally a reaction that normal people have."

"Potter, hmm?" Blaise noted, raising an eyebrow at Theo, who narrowed his eyes at him.

Theo changed the subject. "What about you, Pansy? How's the Muggle boy toy?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Ethan is doing fine. He's out with the boys tonight. I really want you to meet him… I'm thinking about telling him."

"Really, Pansy?" Draco leaned forward. "I didn't realise that things were so serious. You think he's it for you?"

"I do." She blushed. "I just hope he's not freaked out by… you know. I've been buying crystals and Muggle shit to be more 'witchy' and he hasn't commented on that… But finding out magic is real? If I said I wasn't worried, I'd be lying."

"Have you told your Father?" Blaise asked neutrally.

"Of course not," she scoffed. "I haven't spoken to him in ages, though that doesn't stop him from trying to arrange matches for me. I don't know how much clearer I can make it to him. I am fucking done with his bullshit."

"Well, I mean, marrying a Muggle bloke will probably do it," Theo said, laughing.

Pansy barked a laugh as well. "Merlin, can you imagine his face? Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll send the bastard to an early grave."

"I'll drink to that!" Theo agreed, raising his glass.