Chapter 5

who do I have to speak to?

"You can't go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending."

-C.S. Lewis

DRACO

That damn cabinet would be the death of him.

Draco knew that was the intended outcome when the Dark Lord assigned him to kill Dumbledore, but he wasn't sure the Dark Lord would get the satisfaction of killing him himself. Draco might die of exhaustion before that.

He could feel it in the way his bones ached, in the way his head pounded with every second he was awake. The pressure was crushing him, one suffocating moment at a time.

He'd given up being a prefect and abandoned the badge he once wore with pride. What was the point?

He'd fallen behind on his classwork and assignments—a blow to his once-stellar academic reputation.

He'd even given up Quidditch, the one place where he could channel his frustrations because he no longer had the luxury of time to waste on chasing a Snitch when he was already chasing his own damned survival.

His days blurred in a haze of hidden chambers and broken vanishing cabinets. He didn't even have time for his friends. He couldn't share what he was doing with Blaise or Theo; they hadn't received the Dark Mark yet and were kept blissfully ignorant. Thus, he was left with Crabbe and Goyle. Both were about as useful as a pair of flobberworms.

But the twist of a knife in his gut was giving up Hermione Granger. The one thing that still made his lungs remember how to draw breath, the one fleeting escape from the darkness swallowing him whole.

Well, he gave her up as much as he could manage.

He'd considered throwing himself into the lake when he'd returned to school. Instead, he spent every day haunted by the knowledge that she was nearby. Every day, wondering how many times she'd try to catch his eye and how many times he'd have to pretend not to notice.

It had become a cat-and-mouse game he couldn't afford to keep playing.

He couldn't keep letting her catch him or give in to her demands. He couldn't keep slipping into old habits—slipping back to her. Not because he didn't have time.

Because she was better off without him.

She couldn't get further mixed up in this Dark Lord shit. He could already throttle Potter for dragging her into it all, for making her a target.

If Draco's involvement with her was discovered, she'd have a larger target on her back. All the Dark Lord had to control Draco right now was his mother. He'd salivate at the thought of someone else to dangle over Draco's head.

Deep down, in the quiet, lonely hours when the castle slept, and he worked in shadows, Draco couldn't bear the thought of facing Hermione after she found out—after she saw his Dark Mark, after learning he'd killed Dumbledore.

He closed his eyes against the image of her that lived in his mind—the way she would look at him with that piercing glare, the venomous words she'd spit at him. The witch was brutal, ambitious, shrewd, and cunning—qualities that could have put her in Slytherin.

If she wasn't so fiercely, stubbornly brave.

But above all, he didn't want to hurt her.

And he was going to hurt her.

Was being a Malfoy worth this? The name, legacy, and bloodline had always meant something. Power. Privilege. Respect. Now, it was a death sentence. A noose tightening with every tick of the clock.

It was all bollocks.

What had the Malfoy name given him? A father in Azkaban, a madman steering his life, and years of degrading the one person who set his body on fire and soothed his soul.

It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered. Nothing except completing his impossible task and protecting the women he loved.

The vanishing cabinet loomed like a mockery of his efforts, a testament to his failure to escape this mess.

Draco was exhausted, every fibre of his being stretched thin, every nerve raw and frayed. The anger bubbled inside him like a cauldron on the verge of boiling over, threatening to spill and scorch everything in its path. He was fed up, his patience worn to nothing, his mind a labyrinth of frustration and resentment. He teetered on the edge of catastrophe—ready to explode or implode, unsure which would be worse.

His mind raced back to the night his life irrevocably changed. Hermione lying in the hospital bed, her chest bandaged from an attack by a Death Eater. A Death Eater, just like him. The news his father was captured, Lucius's failure to secure the prophecy was a convenient excuse to leave him to rot and for Voldemort to take over the Malfoy Manor. The excruciating pain of having the Dark Mark forced onto his arm, branding him like cattle.

Who the fuck cared about that stupid prophecy, anyway?

It had stolen everything from him: his father, his home, and now, it threatened to take the only thing left—his girl.

Draco glared at the Vanishing Cabinet, his hands shaking from frustration and fatigue. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache building behind his eyes. He wouldn't get anywhere tonight.

He hadn't slept in weeks. Every waking moment was spent trying to fix the cabinet, sneaking off to meet with Death Eaters or coming up with contingency plans.

He exhaled heavily and headed to the Slytherin common room, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. Inside, his housemates filled the space with laughter and easy chatter, their carefree faces grating on him. They had no idea what he faced, what he risked.

As he stepped inside, the chatter died down, heads turning to acknowledge his arrival. Blaise was lounging on one of the emerald-green sofas, his expression impassive as usual, while Theo sat beside him, looking up from a chess game with Daphne Greengrass. Pansy was perched on an armchair, her dark eyes narrowing as she noticed Draco's dishevelled state.

"Finally decided to grace us with your presence, Draco?" Pansy drawled, her voice dripping with a mix of annoyance and concern. She tilted her head, her gaze scrutinizing him. "You look like death warmed over."

Draco ignored her comment, going over to the fireplace and collapsing into a chair opposite Blaise. He wasn't in the mood for Pansy's snide remarks, nor did he have the energy to pretend to be interested in whatever trivial nonsense they were gossiping about today.

Blaise glanced up from his book, his dark eyes appraising Draco with a knowing look.

"You've been running yourself ragged, mate," he said in his calm, cool tone. "You're going to burn out if you keep this up."

Draco shot him a sharp glare, but his voice became more weary than angry. "I don't have a choice."

Theo moved a knight on the chessboard, his eyes never leaving the pieces.

"He's right, Drake. You've been keeping to yourself more than usual. It's not like you to miss an opportunity to boast about whatever scheme you're cooking up."

Draco snorted, a bitter smile tugging his lips. "Some of us have more important things to worry about than chess and gossip."

Daphne glanced between them, her eyebrows furrowing.

"You've been hanging around Crabbe and Goyle a lot lately," she commented. "Not exactly the most stimulating company."

Crabbe and Goyle lumbered in, looking clueless as always. They hovered by the entrance, unsure whether to approach Draco or give him space. He waved them off, unwilling to deal with their bumbling presence.

"Look, I'm fine," Draco said through gritted teeth, his patience wearing thin. "Just… dealing with some things. Not that it's any of your business."

Pansy's expression softened, her voice lowering to a more genuine tone. "We're just worried about you, Draco. Whatever you're doing, it's taking a toll on you."

Draco's temper flared at her concern, a sharp bitterness cutting through him. "I don't need your pity, Pansy," he snapped, his voice cold. "I need you all to mind your own damn business."

Pansy flinched, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she didn't back down.

"You're not the only one dealing with things, you know," she shot back, her tone hardening. "We're all in this together, whether you like it or not."

Draco scoffed. Having a parent as a Death Eater and being a Death Eater weren't even close. He would know. They were all in a storm, his friends on million-galleon yachts and him on a raft.

He opened his mouth to retort, but Blaise cut him off.

"Enough," he said, his gaze steady. "We're not enemies here. Let's… take a breath."

Draco's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. He knew Blaise was right, but he couldn't shake the anger simmering inside him, the feeling that he was on the verge of breaking. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to steady himself.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the only sound the crackling fire and Blaise's soft rustle of pages as he returned to his book. Draco could feel the weight of their gazes on him, the questions they didn't dare ask.

The portrait swung open, and Theo's head snapped up. He abandoned his game with Daphne as he strolled toward the room's entrance. Draco barely noticed, too deep in his misery. His mind was a dark, swirling mess as he stared into the fire, trying to push everything down—occlude it all away.

Something caught his eye, freezing his blood and silencing every thought.

Hermione.

She had just slipped inside, her eyes scanning the room before settling on Theo, who approached her with a grin. She tilted her head, listening to whatever Theo was saying, a small smile curving her lips.

What was she doing here? And how the fuck had she gotten the Slytherin password—again?

Draco's eyes narrowed, his gaze darting to Theo, who was leaning in far too close.

Theo's posture was deceptively relaxed, ever the opportunist, but Draco could see how his eyes glinted with interest, his body language all too inviting. His jaw clenched, tension coiling through him like a tightly wound spring. His hand tightened around the armrest of his chair, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip.

Pansy followed his line of sight. Her lips curled into a smirk.

"Looks like Nott's making a new friend," she commented, her tone dripping with sly amusement. She glanced back at Draco, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "I wonder what he sees in her."

Daphne snorted, frowning and turning from their chess game. "Bold of you to assume Theo sees anything past a pair of tits."

Blaise snorted, and Draco was sure his teeth would crack from the force of his clenched jaw.

Theo reached out, tugging on one of Hermione's loose curls and watching as it bounced back as he made a joke. She giggled, her hand covering her mouth in delight.

That was it. His patience snapped like a frayed string.

He pushed himself to his feet, his chair scraping against the stone floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Every nerve in his body screamed for action. His vision narrowed to just her and Theo, her presence here a glaring intrusion. Without a word, he stormed across the common room, his steps quick and purposeful.

Theo looked up as Draco approached, his smirk widening.

"Drake," he greeted, but there was a challenge in his eyes, a knowing look that made Draco's blood boil.

"Granger," Draco bit out, ignoring Theo, his eyes boring into hers. "A word."

Hermione's eyes widened, but a flicker of satisfaction crossed her gaze. She didn't protest, didn't even hesitate.

"Of course," she said, following him out of the common room.

Draco didn't wait for her to catch up. His strides were long and quick as he led her deeper into the twisting corridors of the dungeons. His mind was a storm of rage, and something else—something darker, more possessive—drove his steps faster and more determined. When they reached a small, dimly lit alcove tucked away from prying eyes and ears, he spun around, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled.

"I'm not doing anything," she replied, her voice steady and defiant.

"Playing games with Nott?" he snapped. "Flirting with him in front of everyone?"

"Why do you care, Malfoy?" she asked, a spark of challenge in her tone. "Jealous?"

His nostrils flared, the word striking a nerve. He stepped closer, invading her space, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Don't test me, Granger," he warned. "Not right now."

"You've been avoiding me like the plague," she said, her tone cold and cutting. "I thought you didn't care."

Didn't care. The idea was laughable—he cared too fucking much. Every look, every word, every moment he'd spent pretending he didn't feel this pull between them had been a lie. And here she was, pushing his buttons, pulling at his strings like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Her lack of self-preservation almost veered toward carelessness.

"Stay away from Theo," he ordered.

Hermione looked like she pondered the order for a minute before stoutly replying: "No."

The defiance in that single word was like gasoline on a fire. His anger flared hot, consuming, but underneath it was a desperation he couldn't shake.

He took another step closer, his breath hot against her face, his eyes dark and intense. "Granger, I swear—"

"You'll what?" she interrupted, mockery and challenge. "You'll make another threat you won't follow through on?"

He was so close now that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. His heart pounded in his ears, the line between anger and desire blurring in his mind. She knew how to provoke him, making him lose his composure.

Fuck composure.

Just as he was about to move, to close the space between them and do something he knew he'd regret come morning, Hermione's voice cut through the charged silence.

"I'm done waiting for you to come to me," she vowed, her tone steady and determined, each word like a challenge thrown at his feet. "But I'm not done with you, Draco Malfoy. If you want to keep playing these games, remember I warned you—I only play to win."

Her words were like a punch to the gut, and Draco's brow furrowed, the implication sinking in like a heavy stone. She wasn't just playing along; she was serious.

"I intend to find out what you're up to. I'll get you out of this mess—whether you like it or not."

A flurry of fear swept through him, cold and sharp. The thought of her getting too close—of finding out about the Dark Mark etched into his skin, about the impossible mission he'd been given. She wasn't just a clever witch; she was cunning and ruthless when she needed to be. He didn't doubt that she'd uncover everything if she set her mind to it.

His chest tightened, panic clawing its way up his throat. She didn't know what she was talking about, what kind of danger she was putting herself in. He couldn't let her get caught up in this, in him.

"You don't know what you're saying, Granger," he said, the edge of desperation creeping in.

"Don't I?" she countered, her eyes boring into his, unyielding.

He could feel the walls closing in, the weight of her words crashing down on him. If she kept digging, kept pushing… she'd end up exactly where he didn't want her—caught in the crossfire of a war.

And he'd be damned if he let that happen.

"Stay out of it, Hermione." His voice was hollow, the command weak. Even as he spoke, he knew she wouldn't listen. She never did when it came to her beliefs. And that terrified him more than anything. "You don't understand. You can't fix this with the power of friendship or whatever else you three usually do."

He needed her to stop, to back off before she got hurt—or worse.

But he could see it in her eyes: she wasn't going anywhere. She'd never backed down from a challenge, and he'd be a fool to think she'd start now.

"Maybe not," she replied, her voice gentler though no less committed. "But I'm not going to watch you destroy yourself."

She took a step back, her gaze never wavering from his. A quiet intensity burned in her eyes, a promise, not just empty words.

"Stay out of it, Granger."

But she only gave him a small, challenging smile.

"See you around, Malfoy." She turned on her heel and left him alone in the dark, empty alcove.

Draco trudged down the hall from the Room of Hidden Things, his body aching and mind swirling from the night he'd barely survived. The exhaustion sat heavily on his shoulders, mingling with a bitter taste of frustration in his mouth. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him, their expressions vacant and clueless.

Just like their bloody heads.

Just when he thought he might be able to slip away to some dark corner and finally breathe, Blaise appeared in front of him, his face pale, eyes wide with alarm.

Draco tensed, nerves straining.

"What's wrong?" he asked, the words sharper than he intended.

Blaise's voice was low but urgent. "It's Theo. He just bolted out of the dormitory—he got a letter from home."

Draco's stomach twisted. News from Nott Manor was rarely anything but bleak for Theo, who bore the scars, visible and invisible, of his father's cruelty.

"Did you see what it said?" Draco asked, dreading the answer.

Blaise shook his head. "No, he didn't open it fully. Just took one look and was gone."

Draco exhaled, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Crabbe, Goyle—go back to the dormitory." Draco dismissed his usual entourage with a brusque wave of his hand. They grumbled in confusion, but Blaise's expression kept them at bay.

Without waiting, Draco strode down the hall, his mind racing with images of Theo's father, who had turned Theo into the haunted shadow he hid behind his mask of jovial ambivalence.

Draco opened door after door in the empty corridors, searching, his heart pounding louder each second. Theo was like a brother, and Draco knew how deep the trauma ran, the scars clinging to him like a second skin.

He found him tucked away in a dark alcove at the end of a deserted hallway. Theo was sitting on the cold floor, his back pressed to the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his breathing shallow and fast. His fingers twisted in his hair, pulling it painfully tight, his knuckles white as he tried to anchor himself to something—anything—to keep from escalating further.

Draco felt a pang of raw pain shoot through him. He crouched down beside Theo, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Theo," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Look at me."

Theo didn't respond, his chest heaving as he fought for air, his hands trembling. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with fear. He was slipping, teetering on the edge, and Draco felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness grip him.

This wasn't a new experience for him, finding Theo like this. He feared it wouldn't be the last either.

"Hey, it's okay. Just breathe with me, alright?"

Draco placed his hand over Theo's, loosening Theo's death grip on his own hair.

"Feel that?" he said gently, guiding Theo's hand down to press against his own chest. "Just follow my breathing. In and out. In… and out."

Theo's gaze flickered to his, his eyes glazed with fear and desperation. Draco kept the rhythm steady, his breaths slow and deep, willing Theo to follow along. After a moment, Theo's ragged breathing began to sync with his, the tightness in his chest easing as he focused on Draco's steady heartbeat.

"Good, Theo," Draco whispered, relieved. "You're safe. You're here, in Hogwarts, with me. Your father can't reach you here."

Theo's eyes closed, and he pressed his head back against the wall, his breathing evening out but still shaky. He looked drained, like all the fight had been stripped from him, leaving only a fragile, hollow shell.

"I hate him," Theo whispered, his voice raw with years of pent-up anger and grief. "I hate him so much, Draco. And I can't get away."

"I know, Theo." Draco swallowed, the words hitting him like a blow to the gut. "I know. But you have us. You have me, Blaise… even Pansy. We're here for you."

"I don't know if I can keep going, Draco." Theo looked at him, eyes glistening. "He's a monster. Every time… every time I think I'm free of him, he does something terrible and reminds me he's still there. Lurking in the background, ready to strike the moment I let my guard down. It's like always standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to push me or pull me back."

Draco's grip tightened on his friend's hand, a silent promise.

"Then I'll pull you back," he said, his voice unwavering. "As many times as it takes. I won't let him destroy you, Theo."

For a long moment, they just sat there, the promise settling between them. Theo's breathing was steady now, his hands still, and Draco felt a faint hope spark within him. Theo's past would haunt him again; he knew that, but he would always be there to help him recover.

Theo gave a shaky nod, the hint of a sad, grateful smile flickering across his face.

"Thanks," he whispered. "I… I don't think I could do this without you."

Draco managed a small, reassuring smile, squeezing Theo's shoulder.

"You don't have to." He took a deep breath, feeling his fear settle into resolve. "You have me. You'll always have me."

They stayed there, leaning against the cold stone wall, in silence but not alone.