The hours following their return from Malfoy Manor had been a thick, nauseating goo morphing from one shape into another, a jumble of faces, voices, questions, all blurring into a dream-like haze—except the dream was a nightmare, a murky bog Draco was drowning in.
He remembered the faces of Lupin, Shacklebolt, and Tonks, and the small enclosed space they had dragged him into. He didn't remember what they'd asked him, nor did he remember what he'd told them.
There were someone else's secrets Draco had once kept. But that someone no longer cared about those secrets. He no longer cared about anything at all.
And at that moment, neither did Draco.
One by one, the faces disappeared, and a hand, strong, but gentle, led him somewhere through the swirling corridors.
A door clicked behind him, and finally, he was alone, surrounded only by silence and darkness.
The walls spun around him, swaying left and right, up and down, until the window in front of him drifted up, ascending overhead, and Draco found himself staring at the white ceiling instead, his back against thick blankets.
In and out of sleep, he fell, but never too deeply, his conscience always hovering just beneath the surface. Behind his eyelids, there was nothing but green dust. Heavy and ominous, it kept stirring him into bleary wakefulness, leaving him to mindlessly watch the weak crisscrossed rectangle of light growing brighter and brighter, then shrinking under the weight of encroaching shadows pressing in from all sides—only to yield and let them overtake it... before reappearing anew, to begin its pointless fight again.
There was knocking on the door. He was almost sure of it. It might have even happened more than once. At one point, he thought he could actually hear his mother's voice, just behind the door. He wasn't sure. Regardless of who it was, he ignored it.
The next time he opened his eyes, there was a tray of food on the desk near his bed. He stared at it long enough to feel the same slumber pulling him down, down, down, into the cloud of green dust.
Snape was gone. The man Draco admired and believed to be nearly invincible was gone.
He died, hated by everyone he fought for, forsaken in enemy territory, deprived of even the smallest dignity of a proper funeral. He died saving Draco and Lupin. But were they—either of them—deserving of his sacrifice? They, who ran like cowards, leaving him for dead.
He could have done something. He should have done something.
Draco remembered the look Snape had given him in that final moment. It was warm and serene and not at all heavy, despite the resolve hidden within it. The smile of a dead man.
They weren't that close. There were things they never discussed, especially when using their Galleons; it was only ever mission tips and useful spells, all brief and impersonal. Draco would never have thought Snape would give his life for his.
Perhaps it wasn't personal; Snape never was one for sentimentality. Perhaps the decision was purely practical in nature. After all, keeping the Elder Wand out of Voldemort's reach was as essential to their victory as whatever Potter was busy doing right now.
Indeed, that made much more sense. And yet, Draco couldn't stop thinking about the warmth in Snape's dark eyes and the last exchange they had.
If no one is going to say it, I will. I'm proud of you, Draco.
I'm proud of you.
Deep in the night (though which night or day it was, Draco didn't know), he remained painfully awake, no longer dazed, but restless and itching all over. The bed felt hard and squeaky underneath him, driving him to rise at last.
He slipped out of his room into the pitch-black corridor and quietly descended the stairs, his hand sliding along the wooden railing.
He was hoping to find the living room empty at this time of night. It turned out he wasn't the only one. Short curls spilling over one side of the sofa caught his eye first. As the last step creaked under his foot, he met her gaze—she was already looking up at him.
"Can't sleep?" Ruth said. "Me neither."
Draco stepped down onto the floor and paused, his hand lingering upon the smooth curve of the railing.
The silence stretched between them.
"Do you..." she began. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Then come here."
He approached the sofa, and Ruth made room for him, sitting up and shifting to the right. But instead of taking a seat beside her, Draco plopped down on the carpet and laid his head upon her lap.
She went perfectly still. He hugged her knees and closed his eyes. His soul now yearned for company, afraid of the solitude it'd been seeking just a moment earlier.
After a beat, her hand came down to caress his hair, but it was far too cool to be soothing. As her fingers brushed his neck, his whole body shivered, overcome by chills.
"Why are you so cold?" he whispered.
With a soft, apologetic sound, she pulled away. He heard her breathe into her palms and rub them together.
When she touched his nape again, her hand felt slightly warmer. He caught her other hand and clasped it between his.
They sat there like that for a while.
"Don't you ever miss it," Draco murmured at last, "the days on the farm?"
She chuckled softly. "Who would've thought, Draco Malfoy appreciating rural life."
The joke fell flat, but he chose to offer a response nonetheless, unenthusiastic as it was. "At least there was privacy. No people for miles in every direction."
"Didn't they give you a private room?" she asked, keeping up the pretence of a normal conversation.
"Of course they did."
"Not everyone was so lucky, your majesty."
He frowned. Was she saying she had to room with someone?
"Where's your room, anyway?" he asked.
"In the attic. I share it with a girl we've rescued."
"What girl?"
This was the first time he'd thought about the freed prisoners. Pondering whether or not he should feel guilty about it, he decided he didn't care.
"You might know her. She looks to be about our age. She's very sweet, a little dreamy, perhaps. Blonde hair, grey eyes like yours, and a very, um, unique fashion sense."
He mentally dug through the memories of his Hogwarts schoolmates, straining to recall one that would fit the description, until it dawned on him.
"Merlin, are you roommates with Loony Lovegood?"
"I believe her name is Luna."
Ruth began recounting everything Lovegood had told her about magical creatures. Draco didn't interrupt her, only half-listening. If he weren't physically incapable of falling asleep at that moment, her quiet voice, coupled with nonsensical words, would most definitely have lulled him right back to it.
Somewhere, a door creaked. It was shortly followed by the barely perceptible sounds of footsteps. Draco watched the stairs, which were bathed in the cool, slate hues of the approaching sunrise. As he caught sight of the hem of his mother's long woollen skirt, he dropped Ruth's hand and jerked away from her, stumbling to his feet.
If Narcissa was surprised to find him standing in the middle of the living room, horribly dishevelled and in the company of a girl—at this ungodly hour, no less—she didn't show it.
"Draco," she said, her voice perfectly neutral.
"Mother," he mirrored her tone.
Behind him, Ruth was rising to her feet as well.
"Good night, I guess," she said as she passed him.
"Good night," he muttered, not quite meeting her eye.
Walking past Narcissa, Ruth gave her a single nod and ran up the stairs, not waiting to see the scrutinizing look it was met with.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" asked Draco.
Mother's gaze shifted to him, turning thoughtful.
"I'd like that."
Through the plant-lined corridor, he led her into the small kitchen. She watched him as he retrieved cups and a teapot, rummaging through the cupboards in search of tea. Draco had only been in here once, a couple of days prior to the mission. Though it had been less than a week, it felt like an eternity had passed.
It was when Draco served them tea on the kitchen counter that Mother finally spoke.
"Draco," she said carefully, "has something happened after we'd left? No one is saying anything."
He raised a single eyebrow. "Did you actually ask someone?"
"Of course not." With elegant grace, she brought her cup to her lips and took the smallest sip. "However, I have instructed the elves to pay attention to conversations around the house."
"Mother, are you having them hide in people's closets?"
"Don't be silly, darling. They're simply assisting the household with the cleaning and meals for the time being."
That drew a scoff out of him. "Of course they are. I forgot who I'm talking to."
His caustic tone made her frown, but she knew him all too well or, at any rate, well enough to recognise it was time to change the subject.
"Speaking of the household... who was that young lady?"
Draco anticipated the question; he was only surprised it took her this long to ask. Not taking his eyes of the steam rising from his cup, he replied, "Just someone I had to work with to get you out."
"Well, does she have a name?"
"It's not a family you know."
"A halfblood then?"
Draco paused, then set his cup down on the counter. Was there even a point in lying?
"She's the girl Lestranges went after."
To anyone else, it would surely look like Narcissa's expression didn't change, but Draco could see the slight tightness in her eyes and the stiffness in her lips. With a kind of nervousness so detached that it barely registered, he awaited her answer.
After taking another silent sip, Mother seemed to swallow the tea along with whatever grievances she might have felt.
"Then," she said dispassionately, "is she the other Undesirable? I had house-elves collect all newspapers with any mentions of—"
Draco grimaced. "Don't read them."
"Draco." Her voice softened, and the walls behind her eyes seemed to crumble. "I'm just trying to understand what happened to you. You were gone for months, and I have no idea what you've gone through."
Her hand reached out to him, her eyes on his scar. He turned away before she could touch it.
"That is a very long story."
"Well, can you at least tell me what happened that night in July—to you, to Bella?"
Draco shifted his weight, not knowing how to respond. When he didn't, his mother continued in a quiet, pleading voice.
"There was a rumour—a theory, even—that it was Bella's own spell that brought about her downfall. Is that true?"
He paused, weighing his options. Would telling her the truth accomplish anything besides more pain and resentment? He didn't think so.
"That is true," he said, "more or less."
And before she could demand that he elaborate, he asked a question himself.
"How is Father?"
There was a sad pause.
"He will be fine."
Draco gave a short, bitter laugh. "I won't be accidentally stumbling upon him in the living room, will I?"
"We're both keeping to the room they've given us," said Mother, then added, reproachfully, "I really wish you would have at least warned us about where we were going."
Truth be told, Draco had considered warning them, but they'd nearly flipped out over a mere mention of the Order. If he'd told them they'd be living with Mother's estranged sister, they most certainly would not have gone willingly.
"Have you..." he said. "Have you seen her yet?"
"No. It seems that she's not here. I think she might be staying with her... daughter."
They finished their tea in silence, watching the sun rise through the window.
"What are your plans for today?" she asked conversationally.
"I have no idea."
"Well... How about you start by freshening up? War or not, appearances are always important."
Draco looked over his clothes, the same ones he had worn to Malfoy Manor. He must have truly reeked for Mother to point it out.
They ascended to the second floor together, where she pointed him to one of the bathrooms—the closest one to both their rooms—and summoned Tibbles, ordering him to fetch fresh towels and clothes. Then, she retreated to her room, and as she did so, Draco stole a glance inside it but failed to catch a glimpse of his father.
Standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, Draco examined his face and body, from the red scar on his jaw to the sloppily patched-up cut on his right arm.
Gaunt, greasy-haired, and marred all over, his reflection stared back at him with empty eyes.
Was this who his parents saw before them?
Was this who he was now?
Draco had no answer.
For the longest time, he'd been doing everything he could to secure freedom and safety for his parents, and at last, he succeeded. But instead of joy or relief, there was only emptiness—numbness, everywhere: in his head, in his limbs, in his chest. It persisted, deep inside his body, impervious to the scalding-hot water and the scrubbing of his skin raw.
Clean and clad in clothes that weren't his, Draco made his way back to his room. It also stunk. He opened the window and sat down on the edge of his bed.
The tray on his desk had been replaced with a new one. After looking at it for a few minutes, Draco moved it closer and began picking at the food.
Time passed.
Outside, the sun rose higher, coming in and out from behind the clouds. As it revealed itself once again, someone knocked on the door.
"Come in," said Draco, not bothering to raise his voice.
The door squeaked open, and in came the shabby figure of Remus Lupin.
"Hello, Draco. How are you?"
Draco muttered something in response.
Lupin paused, then hesitantly came closer and rested his hand on the back of the chair.
"Ted told me you haven't left your room since he brought you here. You know you don't have to hide, right?"
"I'm not hiding."
"No? Well, I just wanted to remind you that people staying at this safehouse don't know about your other identity. Dean saw you that first time, so he was able to connect the dots, but he won't say anything; he gave us his word. Everyone else just thinks all three of you Malfoys have been spying for the Order. That's the story Kingsley is going to spin. It's an easier, less explosive way to get you redeemed in the eyes of the public."
Draco snorted. "You mean it's more convenient for him to have everyone think I've been working for him the entire time, instead of having his authority undermined by admitting that someone, acting independently from him, actually got shit done."
Lupin's eyebrows knitted together. "I thought you'd want less controversy and scandal surrounding your name. It would certainly make the outcome of your trial more predictable and make it easier for you to return to normal life afterwards."
A normal life, Draco thought. Was that even possible for him?
A gust of fresh wind picked up the white curtains and tossed them towards Draco and Lupin. They watched as the light fabric floated, drifting up and down.
Lupin shifted. Just when Draco thought the conversation was coming to an end, however awkwardly, he suddenly brought up a completely different topic.
"Luna and I are going on a little trip into the woods to gather potion ingredients, herbs and the like." He looked at Draco, his expression open and almost friendly. "Would you care to join us?"
"Uh... Why me?"
"Well, you're good at potions, aren't you?"
Draco found himself at a loss for words. Potions? Seriously? Was that what they needed him for?
But then again, why not potions? He was rather good at that.
Without giving it any further consideration, Draco agreed to go with them.
Luna Lovegood was waiting for them outside—all dottiness and levity, as always, though her features appeared slightly more mature than he remembered. She wore an old cardigan over a white knee-length dress adorned with colourful bugs, which was almost as painful to look at as the sun.
"Hello, Draco," she said breezily.
"Hi," he grumbled, glancing sideways at her wand tucked carelessly behind her left ear.
"Shall we go?"
Lupin slung a bag over his shoulder and gestured for them to follow. The three of them crossed the Anti-Apparition barrier and proceeded further into the woods.
The path they took was untrodden, and their footsteps were muffled by the soft carpet of new grass and moss. Draco walked, watching his step, his hands in his trouser pockets, and listened to Lupin listing the needed ingredients. As he neared the end of the list, Luna interrupted him with a quiet, rapturous gasp. Draco looked up and took in their surroundings.
It was April, and trees were beginning to leaf out, covered in hundreds of vibrant green buds. Golden light streamed through the slender treetops, coming down in lively patterns. A fresh, earthy smell mingled with cheerful birdsongs, filling the air to the brim.
Draco inhaled deeply. The crisp air prickled against his lungs. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sunlight dance across his skin, and took another breath, even deeper.
It felt like he was breathing for the first time in ages.
They walked on. Luna kept falling behind to examine various trees, even though there was nothing there that could be even remotely useful for potions. When she wandered out of earshot once again, Lupin spoke, not lifting his eyes from his feet.
"The night of the mission," he began quietly, "Minerva had seen You-Know-Who on Hogwarts grounds. She meant to warn us but got held up by Carrows."
"Do you know why he was there?"
"He didn't stay there for very long and, apparently, the sole aim of his visit was to desecrate Dumbledore's grave, though why he would do such a thing remains a mystery."
Draco said nothing, but the pieces of the puzzle fit together in his mind. Voldemort was seeking the Elder Wand, having finally discovered its connection to Dumbledore. And of course the Order had to set the mission for the exact day when he made this discovery and returned from his travels.
Draco felt a bitter, bitter sorrow. If they had only gone to Malfoy Manor a day prior, none of it would have happened. If he had only read Snape's message immediately upon receiving it, he would have known about the threat. If he had only been smart enough to give up on the idea of infiltrating Malfoy Manor. For it was a pointless endeavour. His parents didn't need saving, and whatever Death Eaters they captured did not in any way compensate for the loss of Snape: Pettigrew was plain pathetic, and the Ministry would not be any more vulnerable without Yaxley.
"Draco."
His eyes met Lupin's.
"You do know there's nothing we could do, right?"
"Couldn't we?" Draco's voice was barely audible.
A pained expression came over Lupin's face. Heavily, he shook his head.
"The only thing we could do," he said, "was die there with him."
They were silent and thoughtful when Luna found them, catching up just in time to stumble upon a meadow of bluebells—a patch of violet-blue in the canopy of green.
Lupin handed Draco and Luna small knives and jars, and wordlessly, the three of them spread out to collect the flowers that sweetened the air.
Draco approached one, careful not to step on the others. Crouching down, he gently grasped the stem near the base and cut it cleanly at an angle. The blade seemed so small in his hand; he'd forgotten the last time he'd used a knife for anything other than slashing someone's throat.
He put the bluebell in one of the jars and continued his work, allowing the simple task to wholly consume his thoughts.
From the bluebell meadow, he soon moved to a cluster of primroses that grew to the side; from the cluster of primroses—to a swath of yellow buttercups, through a gurgling creek.
As Draco moved further, he felt his limps grow weaker and weaker. A deep, gnawing sensation churned in his stomach that kept tightening into sharp pangs. He'd gone without food for days now, and the few bites he'd eaten that morning had done nothing to satiate his stabbing hunger.
With each step, the greenery around him came in and out of focus. Suddenly, his vision darkened around the edges, and he tripped over a fallen branch.
As he fell, his knees struck the hard rocks and the jars flew out of his hands, tumbling in all directions. Draco winced, letting out a loud string of curses.
Still on his knees, he pulled out his wand, but before he could do anything, the jars lifted off the ground, and the cracks in the glass vanished right before his eyes.
A hand reached out to him. Draco looked up and saw Luna standing above him in her silly white dress, a placid, fairy-like smile on her lips. He eyed her for a moment and, feeling incredibly stupid, chose to accept her outstretched hand.
The collected plants inside the floating jars appeared to be intact. With a surly nod in Luna's direction, Draco shook the dirt off his cloak and plucked the jars from the air, stuffing them inside his pockets.
Meanwhile, Luna flounced off without a word.
Where had she even come from? He thought he was alone.
"Were you following me?" he called, taking a few steps after her.
She slowed down, as if waiting for him to catch up with her. Except he wasn't catching up with her. He'd been heading in that direction all along.
As he got closer to her, though not close enough to actually walk beside her, she continued walking. "I followed the Wrackspurts," she said to him without turning. "They're all over you."
Sweet Merlin, just what was wrong with this girl?
Oblivious to his thoughts, she added, in a matter-of-fact manner, "You have to think positive thoughts. It'll chase them away."
Draco let out an audible snort, his eyes on the ground as he slowly trailed after her. "Positive thoughts? Like what? If it somehow escaped your attention, we're in the middle of a literal—"
Whipping his head up, he cut himself off. They were standing at the very edge of the forest, right before a field of young wheat. Ever so briefly, he wondered how he could've missed the thinning of the trees around them, but the view quickly pushed these thoughts out of his mind.
The green stalks swayed gently in the breeze, soft waves rolling through the verdant sea. The field seemed to stretch endlessly, all the way to the horizon, where it met the spotless, purest blue that was the sky.
"See?" said Luna, pointing at his head. "They're fleeing. I know what else can help."
With that, she opened her small leather bag and pulled out a paper wrap. Inside it was a simple ham-and-cheese sandwich. She held it out to him.
"Here."
He was about to decline her offer, but just then, his traitorous stomach rumbled, and Luna nudged the sandwich closer to him.
"That's very kind of you," he said, "but I'm sure you've packed it for yourself."
"Oh no. I always pack extra for my friends."
"Friends?"
Draco peered at her. There was absolutely no way he'd heard her right.
Luna looked away, and for a fleeting moment, her face lost its childlike glow and grew uncannily serious.
"Those dungeons were very cold and scary. Mr Ollivander was getting worse and worse. We didn't know if..." She shook her head and turned her gaze back to him. "You saved us, didn't you? I'd like to be your friend."
With a genuine smile, she offered the sandwich to him once again.
There was a lump in Draco's throat as he stared at it. He blinked a few times—perhaps too rapidly for it to seem innocuous—and swallowed down hard. Reaching out a hesitant hand, he took the sandwich and brought it to his trembling lips.
Now satisfied, Luna turned around and hoisted herself onto a boulder that lay nearby, marking the end of the forest and the beginning of the wheat field. Draco stepped closer and sat down beside her.
Not a minute later, they spotted Lupin heading towards them from the woods.
"Ah, a picnic," he said approaching. "Allow me then to make a contribution."
He rummaged through his old bag and handed Luna an open chocolate bar before settling onto a stump himself.
And so, they sat there, passing the chocolate around and watching the green waves.
The sun had already set by the time they neared the other edge of the forest, returning to the safehouse. Draco held Luna's hand, guiding her through the darkness while conversing with Lupin on their further strategy.
It was when they crossed the barrier that Draco heard it—his name, or rather, his family name—being spoken, or rather, sputtered in a mix of shock and outrage, in a voice that Draco knew all too well.
He imagined it before he could actually see it: the Golden Trio themselves, dirty, angry, thunderstruck, standing on the wooden porch of the Tonks' house.
