Resipiscence part 3
Jump?
Disintegration:
Part 1, Part 2
Lassitude:
Part 1, Part 2
Resipiscence:
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, End
Resipiscence (part 3)
The door doesn’t even close before she’s rounding on him.
“What do you know?” Her whisper is as sharp as the finger she’s gabbing into Ron’s chest, and he can’t help but stumble backwards from the impact of it. Once he regains his balance, he shuffles his feet against the tile, not looking up at his wife as her hair seems to rise, her expression like a mad porcupine.
He always thought he’d enjoy the day where he knew something Hermione didn’t. But he realizes with a pang that it will only hurt their relationship more; and it is already fragile enough.
Silence is their only companion in the small kitchen; it is thick, like his mother’s porridge, and Ron’s swimming in it. He can hear Hermione’s heavy breathing, can imagine her fingers clenching and unclenching, each knuckle cracking slowly, counting down the seconds until she snaps.
Ron doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to answer his wife, almost too afraid of her reaction. After looking down at his hands, he does the only thing he knows how to do.
He turns to put the plate in the sink.
“YOU WILL FACE ME, RONALD, AND TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!”
Ron didn’t anticipate snapping as quickly as Hermione, but hearing her words turns him. He feels his head begin to pound in anger, and he pulls his wand with half-crazed eyes and a hammering heart. He casts a Muffliato on the room before shouting back at Hermione.
“Do you want Ginny and George to hear, Hermione?”
“Hear what, Ron? Is what you know harmful to them?”
“I don’t know, Hermione. You’ve kept Harry’s relationship with Malfoy secret for so long, you’d think it was harmful.”
Hermione’s nose flares, and her arms are locked against her side. “How do you know?”
Ron scoffs, rolling his eyes and gripping his wand until his fingers turn white. “This is not about how I know, alright? This is about Harry with Malfoy, the Draco Malfoy we’ve hated forever, and how you two thought I didn’t know. All these years, and you thought I was as ignorant of it as I am of Blibbering Hum-do-whats or whatever they’re called. Why couldn’t you trust me with this?”
Her brow knits. “Well, it seems you’ve kept it secret as much as I have; I don’t see why I would need to trust you with it, let alone trust you at all.”
“Now don’t start that - I only know because I over heard you talking about it!”
Hermione remains silent, looking carefully at Ron, not letting herself speak to him.
Frustration rises in his throat like bile. “Hermione, I was his best friend - and I’m your best friend, too, in case you’ve forgotten. You can’t just leave me out of things like this.”
It’s Hermione’s turn to spin around, unable to face him. Her hands lie on the counter, her back heaving from her heavy breathing. Ron thinks he knows what she’s thinking, because he’s known her long enough know to know her thoughts; You’re right, you were his best friend, but now’s not the time to play that card. There’s no time to be wasted - we have to take care of Harry first.
Ron doesn’t want to wait to talk about this; they can finish this now, while they have time. When this is all over, he knows Hermione won’t want to talk about it any more than she does now, and by then she’ll be even more tired and irritable.
Ron sets his jaw. He needs to get Hermione’s attention, and he knows how. He just hopes Harry won’t mind him telling her.
“Harry spoke to me the night before he left.”
Hermione snorts, but her shoulders visibly tense at the same time. He’s got her attention, but she cuts him off before he can say anything else.
“I’m sure he spoke to us all that night, Ron. He probably wanted to appear normal.”
“Oh really, and what did he say to you, then? I’m sure it’s burned in your memory like one of your Arithmancy problems. You probably recite it to yourself every night.”
“You’re making me sound as if I’m the one obsessed with Harry, when we both know it’s really you.”
Ron feels his face heat up, flooding from his ears and into his temples. He flexes his toes and his fingers, trying to release some of his anger and embarrassment.
“Don’t make me look like the bad guy, Hermione. Your life fell apart just as much as mine did when he left.”
Hermione turns around, her lips thin and eyes blazing. “Only because you fell apart, Ron. I was fine with Harry leaving, and I was happy to be married. If you had been fine, things would have been easier.”
“No, they wouldn’t have; I can bet you would have strung yourself to Malfoy regardless of my situation. Things wouldn’t have been fine then; we’d still be angry at each other, and Malfoy would still be the mess he’s always been!”
“Don’t-”
Ron raises his hand. “No, you don’t. You know you want to hear what I have to say, so let me say it.”
“No, you can say it once I’m done.” Hermione’s breath is erratic as it escapes her. “Do you want to know why I’ve chased Draco all these years, followed him, worked a job that keeps me close to him all the time? I don’t do it out of enjoyment, Ronald - I do it because Harry asked me to.” A nasty laugh rises out of her at Ron’s surprised face. “Yes, he asked me to. The night he left, he told me to watch Draco. And ever since the moment I knew he was gone, that is what I have been doing, despite my own desire for happiness.”
Her eyes fill with tears and she scowls. “Draco is my friend now, but in the beginning it was hard to put up with his behavior and his hatred. If you had been a little more supportive, a little more stable and not ruined just because Harry left, it would have been easier for me to bear.”
With her arms crossed, Hermione simply stands and watches Ron. He doesn’t want all the blame forced on to him, but it drains him of all his anger to look at her and know that right now, he is the cause of much of her pain, her anger. He made her angry at school, and he makes her angry now. It’s not his intention to hurt her. He sighs, and takes a small step toward her.
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Fighting is the last thing I ever want to do, Ron.”
He tries to think of something to say, something comforting, something fitting, but he can’t come up with the words. He’s out of things to say for a second time this evening. Fortunately, Hermione saves him, her sentence spoken as softly as a mother sings a lullaby to her sleeping child.
“What is it Harry told you the night before he left, Ron?”
Ron shrugs. “Told me he trusts him. Took me several years to finally figure out what he meant.”
Hermione only nods.
“You know, considering how cryptic he sounded at the time, we should have reckoned he was going to leave.”
The corner of Hermione’s lips lift slightly. “Oh, I knew. I just didn’t know exactly when.”
“You could have warned me,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.
At this, she smiles fully and rests her hand on her husband’s arm. There’s a comfortable pause, a silence that rests lightly and warmly in his mind and in his heart, before he speaks again.
“I only left Harry with Malfoy because Harry told me he trusted him. Otherwise I would have brought him home with us.”
At this, Hermione sighs and rubs her forehead. “I’m beginning to think that we shouldn’t have let him go home with Draco. I feel like it’s all my fault.”
“What, that Malfoy’s being an even bigger prick than usual? That’s his own fault, Hermione, not yours.”
She shakes her head. “We left him there too long, Ron. He’s gone mad.”
“He already was, Hermione.”
Her eyes roll. “Not Harry, you dolt. Draco.”
“I know.”
Ron grabs Hermione’s hand and pulls her with him toward the door, forbidding himself from seeing her sad smile. “Come on; we’ll see if Ginny and George tried using an Extendable Ear on us, and after we’ve gotten rid of them, we’ll go check up on Harry.”
*
They are asking me questions, questions I don’t want to answer. All I feel is the leather seat beneath me and the loose fabric of my clothing around me. They were never this loose before, and I don’t know how they got to be so. I can’t look around, my eyes are stuck staring into space, one indefinite, unmoving point in space that I can’t really see. Everything is hazy, as if I’m sitting in a cloud of steam that never rises, and if I stood, I still wouldn’t find my way out of it; it follows me wherever I go. But I don’t want to listen to the Ministry officials; I don’t want to talk to the doctors. I don’t want to continue sitting here, unseeing and cold.
“Did you keep him restrained after you dismissed the doctors from your home?”
“Did you teach him your name?”
“How did he learn to speak?”
I shake my head at their persistent questions. I wish I could kick them all out of the room and be left alone with you. But I don’t know where you are. I don’t know where I am.
I feel someone grab my arm, and although I have a habit of pulling away, I do not. I search, and slowly the fog clears, and I see Hermione sitting next to me, her lip swollen from being chewed on mercilessly. Her eyes are filled with worry, and as she says my name I tilt my head and stare.
I knew the second I threatened her she would get the ministry involved. It was only a matter of time. But my forgetfulness - we would have been safe in the Manor if I hadn’t forgotten about that blasted elf. We could have been safe until you were healed, and then we could have escaped. Disappearing is what you’re good at - we would have been gone if you had saned up quick enough; if I hadn’t left that elf loyal to Hermione.
I begin to snarl. This is her fault. We wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t been so defensive, so caught up in protecting you. She is not my friend if she cannot leave me with you. I try to pull my arm from her, feeling the fabric she holds in her grasp stretch. An indignant look flares up in her eyes, and Hermione tugs back. I can hear my sleeve cry in pain, and I snarl again. But her voice is suddenly loud and commanding.
“We won’t take him away, Draco.”
My snarl dies and I sit still, feeling my face relax and become a blank sheet of parchment. My back remains rigid, but my eyes wander toward nothing in particular.
I hear water falling, splashing somewhere in the room. I listen to it, lulled by it, before I look up and ignore those that sit in this room in their tension and silence. My head does not move as I glance around to look for the water, but I do not see it anywhere.
I do notice Hermione giving the doctors and the Ministry men nervous looks. Weasley stands behind her, his arms folded and his face dark. The doctors are fidgety and the Ministry officials’ faces are pinched. I shrug minutely, distracted. My thoughts are straying toward you. What are they doing to you right now? We need to escape these men, who think they are better, think they know better, who have never left you alone, even when you were no longer here; we will escape these liars. We will be safe.
I search for you, hoping desperately that you hid in a corner somewhere. Slowly, I begin to recognize the room. We’re back here, are we? Back in this horrible white room. It seems pristine, touched by nothing, the only obvious color in the room the robes and hair of the people in it. I look around, and quickly spot the glass wall. The other side is white, too. I can’t see anything or any one in it.
Where are you?
The world is suddenly spinning, a sinister warmth invading and curling around me. I feel sick and tired, and I wish you were here to lie down with me. But I can’t lie down now. Not with all these people here.
I turn to focus back on Hermione as she cautiously lets go of my arm, her fear that I will die at any second apparent. “Draco, I’ll let you see Harry-” and at this there are protests from the men in the room as I watch her. She holds up a hand to silence the others, and I see Weasley come up from behind and put a hand on her shoulder. She seems to sit straighter and her head rises, the old confidence coming back.
“Draco, I’ll let you see Harry, so long as you promise not to faint.”
My head is feeling impossibly light, my stomach impossibly heavy and vile. I can’t comply to such a request; I don’t remember not feeling like I would collapse when I am around you. When I first saw you, in this room, I felt like I would fall. At the Manor, I would always wake up barely able to recall that I was with you before everything seemed to stop and go black. Hermione fainted the one time she entered your room when we were alone.
“If you faint, you won’t see him again.”
I know Weasley is the one who spoke, but I cannot sacrifice the energy to glare at him. The room is filling with water, with the sounds of water falling continuously, endlessly. My mind is already swimming in it, although my body remains stiff and cold in this seat.
They can’t do this to us; they can’t keep me away from you. I don’t care if my arms hurt and my legs are frail. A Malfoy’s sense of survival is strong than that. No sudden needed surge of energy will fill me. But I will see you, and I will not fall.
I try with what might I have to block out the sounds in my ears, and I turn to look directly at Hermione. She looks back at me as if she knows what I’m thinking. She exhales, her breath shaking, her hands fiddling nervously in her lap. I nod as deftly as I can, and she mimics it, standing quickly. The rest follow suit, but I remain sitting, watching them all tower over me, suddenly making me feel even smaller, weaker than I had a moment again. My legs aren’t ready for the momentum of standing yet, and I feel myself panic as my eyes dart to see if anyone noticed, my hands tremble and knees jerk. I try to hid it behind my blank face, and I look up at Weasley, who has moved to stand in front of me.
He motions for me to stand, but I am still struggling to block the sounds of water that threaten to burst in me. He knits his brow, and I look away. I will make myself stand, because I am determined to prove myself, to get us out of here. But before I realize what’s happening, Weasley picks me up as Hermione steps out of the room, and he pushes me toward her. I would get angry at him for touching me, for humiliating me in front of all these people, but I can’t waste my energy on him. Surely they already see my hurt pride, my lost dignity as it trails behind me, left in the shoeprints forgotten as I stagger away.
I bite the inside of my lower lip, and move as quickly as I can to follow Hermione. I need to focus on seeing you, no matter the cost. After today, I am determined to never let them see us again.
Outside the room, there is a narrow hallway. The lighting is dimmer, greyer than that in the room behind me, a stark contrast that leaves me blinking and trying to see in the dark. The walls are oppressive, seemingly leaning in toward me as I search for Hermione. As my eyes adjust, I see her to my right and only a few paces away. She stands at a door talking to a wizard. He might be an Auror, and after he nods to her he leaves and strides down the hall in the opposite direction. She turns toward me and with lead feet I begin walking toward her. I want to move faster, the anticipation of seeing you building up in my stomach, but I can’t. I’m too tired, the walls of the hallway suffocating me as they press even closer. And Hermione knows it.
It seems like it’s hours before I make it to her side, and when I’m finally there, she looks down at her feet before she can look at me. It looks like she’s bracing herself for something, because her shoulders are tensing and her hands are clenched so tight they’re white.
“Draco, don’t let him speak. I think that’s when it happens.”
I can’t speak to her. My voice won’t allow me. And so I look at her, asking her what she wants me to ask.
“When he begins pulling energy.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a croak. Hermione folds her arms and gives me a stern look. I don’t look back at her, but at the door. I shouldn’t see you, because I might fall; but I’m determined to prove that I won’t. I’m growing agitated and my feet are shuffling. I’m scared witless, but I want to see you, and Hermione grabs my arm as soon as she sees me try to move to the door.
“We’ve sent Aurors in there, and as soon as he sees them and tells them to leave, they fall to the floor. We’ve put a range of living things in there with the Aurors, like plants and animals, and they all wither or drop dead. He’s pulling, Draco, and it’s dangerous.”
The temptation to ask her why she’s letting me see you is not strong enough to overcome my pull toward the door. I reach out impatiently to see if I can push it open, but Hermione grabs me again and I groan.
“Just because you haven’t seen Harry for a week doesn’t mean you’re any stronger, Draco.” She looks pleadingly at me, but I look away. “Please, be careful.”
I hear her, but the door is opening and I’m already pushing through it, my stomach knotting more and more, tighter and tighter. Waterfalls are filling my head with raucous sounds and I’m moving as fast as I can, already feeling your fingers on my back, in my hair. But as soon as I’m in the room, there is only whiteness. I hear the door close behind me, and as I look to my side, I see a mirror on the wall. On the other side, I know they are watching me. I would try to straighten, try to look indifferent, but my stomach is falling through my legs and into my feet.
This can’t be a trap. They can’t keep me here, from you.
I am about to turn toward the mirror and yell, if I can, but I hear a door open on the opposite side of the room, and I stop. It looks like a dark, gapping whole in the white walls, and I stand there watching it. Then, from the darkness, you step into the room. You don’t squint or react to the light, but simply stare at me as you advance.
I don’t know how to breathe; I’m drowning. You’re just standing there, with old glasses and old clothing, almost the spitting image of who you were before you left me. And you’re just standing there. Watching me. I don’t know what to do, because something is different. It’s as if I’m in my O.W.L.s all over again, dumbfounded and confused - I’m being tested and I feel as ignorant as Crabbe or Goyle.
You take a step toward me, and I toward you, but I’m feeling my knees give, and Hermione’s voice is ringing in my head.
If you faint, you won’t see him again.
I can’t faint, you can’t let me faint. Please, don’t let me faint. I can’t let them get in the way. They might keep us apart for another ten years, and I can’t live much longer than that without you.
“Potter,” I wonder if they can hear me, and I glance furtively at the mirror before focusing back on you. I open my mouth, but you cut me off.
“Harry.” Your voice is rough, and I flinch. I can’t help but stumble forward a little, despite my best effort to stand straight. My energy is seeping from me.
“Potter.” I swallow hard before continuing. I cannot call you Harry now, not while they watch us; you always used to make me call you Potter. I wonder if it’s because you never wanted me to become attached to you back at Hogwarts.
“I’ve been wondering when you’d show up, Potter.” My feet and hands hurt, but I must act as normal as possible and not convey my weakness. You watch me closely, peering at me from behind your glasses. I shudder. “Do you know how long it’s been? Ten years. Ten very long years. You left all of us hanging, all alone. I don’t think you can understand what pain your selfishness has caused; Weasley’s gone off the deep end, which only ever makes Hermione cry, and the Weaslette is destined to live out her life as an old maid.
“I, on the other hand, remain perfectly-” I gulp, and feel sweat break out on my forehead. Hermione’s wrong; you pull even when you’re not talking. You’re just walking toward me and I can feel myself falling. I try desperately to keep myself upright. “Perfectly fine.”
There is barely any space between us now, and I look at you in agony. I can’t think about how little dignity I have; I need to focus on getting us out of here, getting me out of here. My fingers stretch and I want to touch you, but I refrain, and force my hands to stay at my sides. I have to get out of here if I want to see you again.
“Draco.” I am caught off guard, my thoughts distracting me, and I gasp and grab your shirt, struggling to stand. Your hands grab me, and I can feel blood rush from my legs and head to where you hold my arms. I attempt to push you away and stumble backward, panting, my vision hazy again, my head exploding with sounds of showers and rainfall. I try to step back without falling down, but my legs shake.
I have to get out of here before I fall, otherwise I’ll never see you again.
“I have to go.” I move to turn, but you step forward, your brow furrowing as you begin to frown.
“You can’t,” and you grab my arms again. I struggle to get away, your grasp on me is too tight. I want to tell you why I can’t stay, explain to you, but my mind’s going blank and I’m kicking you. You only pull me toward you and hold tighter, but I can feel myself convulsing, my hands and knees and feet flailing against you. I’m gulping huge amounts of air, but it’s like swallowing razors and they’re tearing a path down my throat into my lungs. My chest is against your chest, and my heart is trembling against your stagnate one. My world is crashing down in time with the shouts coming from behind me.
Now we, together, are drowning in an ocean of water that is falling, falling falling on us. And I am being battered by the waves, the sounds that will take me to my death as my limbs collapse and my heart falters. You alone hold me as my head dips back and I swallow the water, the room and the Aurors turning on their heads as I buckle and fall.
<< RESIPISCENCE (part 2) || RESIPISCENCE (end) >>
Disintegration:
Part 1, Part 2
Lassitude:
Part 1, Part 2
Resipiscence:
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, End
Resipiscence (part 3)
The door doesn’t even close before she’s rounding on him.
“What do you know?” Her whisper is as sharp as the finger she’s gabbing into Ron’s chest, and he can’t help but stumble backwards from the impact of it. Once he regains his balance, he shuffles his feet against the tile, not looking up at his wife as her hair seems to rise, her expression like a mad porcupine.
He always thought he’d enjoy the day where he knew something Hermione didn’t. But he realizes with a pang that it will only hurt their relationship more; and it is already fragile enough.
Silence is their only companion in the small kitchen; it is thick, like his mother’s porridge, and Ron’s swimming in it. He can hear Hermione’s heavy breathing, can imagine her fingers clenching and unclenching, each knuckle cracking slowly, counting down the seconds until she snaps.
Ron doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to answer his wife, almost too afraid of her reaction. After looking down at his hands, he does the only thing he knows how to do.
He turns to put the plate in the sink.
“YOU WILL FACE ME, RONALD, AND TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!”
Ron didn’t anticipate snapping as quickly as Hermione, but hearing her words turns him. He feels his head begin to pound in anger, and he pulls his wand with half-crazed eyes and a hammering heart. He casts a Muffliato on the room before shouting back at Hermione.
“Do you want Ginny and George to hear, Hermione?”
“Hear what, Ron? Is what you know harmful to them?”
“I don’t know, Hermione. You’ve kept Harry’s relationship with Malfoy secret for so long, you’d think it was harmful.”
Hermione’s nose flares, and her arms are locked against her side. “How do you know?”
Ron scoffs, rolling his eyes and gripping his wand until his fingers turn white. “This is not about how I know, alright? This is about Harry with Malfoy, the Draco Malfoy we’ve hated forever, and how you two thought I didn’t know. All these years, and you thought I was as ignorant of it as I am of Blibbering Hum-do-whats or whatever they’re called. Why couldn’t you trust me with this?”
Her brow knits. “Well, it seems you’ve kept it secret as much as I have; I don’t see why I would need to trust you with it, let alone trust you at all.”
“Now don’t start that - I only know because I over heard you talking about it!”
Hermione remains silent, looking carefully at Ron, not letting herself speak to him.
Frustration rises in his throat like bile. “Hermione, I was his best friend - and I’m your best friend, too, in case you’ve forgotten. You can’t just leave me out of things like this.”
It’s Hermione’s turn to spin around, unable to face him. Her hands lie on the counter, her back heaving from her heavy breathing. Ron thinks he knows what she’s thinking, because he’s known her long enough know to know her thoughts; You’re right, you were his best friend, but now’s not the time to play that card. There’s no time to be wasted - we have to take care of Harry first.
Ron doesn’t want to wait to talk about this; they can finish this now, while they have time. When this is all over, he knows Hermione won’t want to talk about it any more than she does now, and by then she’ll be even more tired and irritable.
Ron sets his jaw. He needs to get Hermione’s attention, and he knows how. He just hopes Harry won’t mind him telling her.
“Harry spoke to me the night before he left.”
Hermione snorts, but her shoulders visibly tense at the same time. He’s got her attention, but she cuts him off before he can say anything else.
“I’m sure he spoke to us all that night, Ron. He probably wanted to appear normal.”
“Oh really, and what did he say to you, then? I’m sure it’s burned in your memory like one of your Arithmancy problems. You probably recite it to yourself every night.”
“You’re making me sound as if I’m the one obsessed with Harry, when we both know it’s really you.”
Ron feels his face heat up, flooding from his ears and into his temples. He flexes his toes and his fingers, trying to release some of his anger and embarrassment.
“Don’t make me look like the bad guy, Hermione. Your life fell apart just as much as mine did when he left.”
Hermione turns around, her lips thin and eyes blazing. “Only because you fell apart, Ron. I was fine with Harry leaving, and I was happy to be married. If you had been fine, things would have been easier.”
“No, they wouldn’t have; I can bet you would have strung yourself to Malfoy regardless of my situation. Things wouldn’t have been fine then; we’d still be angry at each other, and Malfoy would still be the mess he’s always been!”
“Don’t-”
Ron raises his hand. “No, you don’t. You know you want to hear what I have to say, so let me say it.”
“No, you can say it once I’m done.” Hermione’s breath is erratic as it escapes her. “Do you want to know why I’ve chased Draco all these years, followed him, worked a job that keeps me close to him all the time? I don’t do it out of enjoyment, Ronald - I do it because Harry asked me to.” A nasty laugh rises out of her at Ron’s surprised face. “Yes, he asked me to. The night he left, he told me to watch Draco. And ever since the moment I knew he was gone, that is what I have been doing, despite my own desire for happiness.”
Her eyes fill with tears and she scowls. “Draco is my friend now, but in the beginning it was hard to put up with his behavior and his hatred. If you had been a little more supportive, a little more stable and not ruined just because Harry left, it would have been easier for me to bear.”
With her arms crossed, Hermione simply stands and watches Ron. He doesn’t want all the blame forced on to him, but it drains him of all his anger to look at her and know that right now, he is the cause of much of her pain, her anger. He made her angry at school, and he makes her angry now. It’s not his intention to hurt her. He sighs, and takes a small step toward her.
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Fighting is the last thing I ever want to do, Ron.”
He tries to think of something to say, something comforting, something fitting, but he can’t come up with the words. He’s out of things to say for a second time this evening. Fortunately, Hermione saves him, her sentence spoken as softly as a mother sings a lullaby to her sleeping child.
“What is it Harry told you the night before he left, Ron?”
Ron shrugs. “Told me he trusts him. Took me several years to finally figure out what he meant.”
Hermione only nods.
“You know, considering how cryptic he sounded at the time, we should have reckoned he was going to leave.”
The corner of Hermione’s lips lift slightly. “Oh, I knew. I just didn’t know exactly when.”
“You could have warned me,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.
At this, she smiles fully and rests her hand on her husband’s arm. There’s a comfortable pause, a silence that rests lightly and warmly in his mind and in his heart, before he speaks again.
“I only left Harry with Malfoy because Harry told me he trusted him. Otherwise I would have brought him home with us.”
At this, Hermione sighs and rubs her forehead. “I’m beginning to think that we shouldn’t have let him go home with Draco. I feel like it’s all my fault.”
“What, that Malfoy’s being an even bigger prick than usual? That’s his own fault, Hermione, not yours.”
She shakes her head. “We left him there too long, Ron. He’s gone mad.”
“He already was, Hermione.”
Her eyes roll. “Not Harry, you dolt. Draco.”
“I know.”
Ron grabs Hermione’s hand and pulls her with him toward the door, forbidding himself from seeing her sad smile. “Come on; we’ll see if Ginny and George tried using an Extendable Ear on us, and after we’ve gotten rid of them, we’ll go check up on Harry.”
*
They are asking me questions, questions I don’t want to answer. All I feel is the leather seat beneath me and the loose fabric of my clothing around me. They were never this loose before, and I don’t know how they got to be so. I can’t look around, my eyes are stuck staring into space, one indefinite, unmoving point in space that I can’t really see. Everything is hazy, as if I’m sitting in a cloud of steam that never rises, and if I stood, I still wouldn’t find my way out of it; it follows me wherever I go. But I don’t want to listen to the Ministry officials; I don’t want to talk to the doctors. I don’t want to continue sitting here, unseeing and cold.
“Did you keep him restrained after you dismissed the doctors from your home?”
“Did you teach him your name?”
“How did he learn to speak?”
I shake my head at their persistent questions. I wish I could kick them all out of the room and be left alone with you. But I don’t know where you are. I don’t know where I am.
I feel someone grab my arm, and although I have a habit of pulling away, I do not. I search, and slowly the fog clears, and I see Hermione sitting next to me, her lip swollen from being chewed on mercilessly. Her eyes are filled with worry, and as she says my name I tilt my head and stare.
I knew the second I threatened her she would get the ministry involved. It was only a matter of time. But my forgetfulness - we would have been safe in the Manor if I hadn’t forgotten about that blasted elf. We could have been safe until you were healed, and then we could have escaped. Disappearing is what you’re good at - we would have been gone if you had saned up quick enough; if I hadn’t left that elf loyal to Hermione.
I begin to snarl. This is her fault. We wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t been so defensive, so caught up in protecting you. She is not my friend if she cannot leave me with you. I try to pull my arm from her, feeling the fabric she holds in her grasp stretch. An indignant look flares up in her eyes, and Hermione tugs back. I can hear my sleeve cry in pain, and I snarl again. But her voice is suddenly loud and commanding.
“We won’t take him away, Draco.”
My snarl dies and I sit still, feeling my face relax and become a blank sheet of parchment. My back remains rigid, but my eyes wander toward nothing in particular.
I hear water falling, splashing somewhere in the room. I listen to it, lulled by it, before I look up and ignore those that sit in this room in their tension and silence. My head does not move as I glance around to look for the water, but I do not see it anywhere.
I do notice Hermione giving the doctors and the Ministry men nervous looks. Weasley stands behind her, his arms folded and his face dark. The doctors are fidgety and the Ministry officials’ faces are pinched. I shrug minutely, distracted. My thoughts are straying toward you. What are they doing to you right now? We need to escape these men, who think they are better, think they know better, who have never left you alone, even when you were no longer here; we will escape these liars. We will be safe.
I search for you, hoping desperately that you hid in a corner somewhere. Slowly, I begin to recognize the room. We’re back here, are we? Back in this horrible white room. It seems pristine, touched by nothing, the only obvious color in the room the robes and hair of the people in it. I look around, and quickly spot the glass wall. The other side is white, too. I can’t see anything or any one in it.
Where are you?
The world is suddenly spinning, a sinister warmth invading and curling around me. I feel sick and tired, and I wish you were here to lie down with me. But I can’t lie down now. Not with all these people here.
I turn to focus back on Hermione as she cautiously lets go of my arm, her fear that I will die at any second apparent. “Draco, I’ll let you see Harry-” and at this there are protests from the men in the room as I watch her. She holds up a hand to silence the others, and I see Weasley come up from behind and put a hand on her shoulder. She seems to sit straighter and her head rises, the old confidence coming back.
“Draco, I’ll let you see Harry, so long as you promise not to faint.”
My head is feeling impossibly light, my stomach impossibly heavy and vile. I can’t comply to such a request; I don’t remember not feeling like I would collapse when I am around you. When I first saw you, in this room, I felt like I would fall. At the Manor, I would always wake up barely able to recall that I was with you before everything seemed to stop and go black. Hermione fainted the one time she entered your room when we were alone.
“If you faint, you won’t see him again.”
I know Weasley is the one who spoke, but I cannot sacrifice the energy to glare at him. The room is filling with water, with the sounds of water falling continuously, endlessly. My mind is already swimming in it, although my body remains stiff and cold in this seat.
They can’t do this to us; they can’t keep me away from you. I don’t care if my arms hurt and my legs are frail. A Malfoy’s sense of survival is strong than that. No sudden needed surge of energy will fill me. But I will see you, and I will not fall.
I try with what might I have to block out the sounds in my ears, and I turn to look directly at Hermione. She looks back at me as if she knows what I’m thinking. She exhales, her breath shaking, her hands fiddling nervously in her lap. I nod as deftly as I can, and she mimics it, standing quickly. The rest follow suit, but I remain sitting, watching them all tower over me, suddenly making me feel even smaller, weaker than I had a moment again. My legs aren’t ready for the momentum of standing yet, and I feel myself panic as my eyes dart to see if anyone noticed, my hands tremble and knees jerk. I try to hid it behind my blank face, and I look up at Weasley, who has moved to stand in front of me.
He motions for me to stand, but I am still struggling to block the sounds of water that threaten to burst in me. He knits his brow, and I look away. I will make myself stand, because I am determined to prove myself, to get us out of here. But before I realize what’s happening, Weasley picks me up as Hermione steps out of the room, and he pushes me toward her. I would get angry at him for touching me, for humiliating me in front of all these people, but I can’t waste my energy on him. Surely they already see my hurt pride, my lost dignity as it trails behind me, left in the shoeprints forgotten as I stagger away.
I bite the inside of my lower lip, and move as quickly as I can to follow Hermione. I need to focus on seeing you, no matter the cost. After today, I am determined to never let them see us again.
Outside the room, there is a narrow hallway. The lighting is dimmer, greyer than that in the room behind me, a stark contrast that leaves me blinking and trying to see in the dark. The walls are oppressive, seemingly leaning in toward me as I search for Hermione. As my eyes adjust, I see her to my right and only a few paces away. She stands at a door talking to a wizard. He might be an Auror, and after he nods to her he leaves and strides down the hall in the opposite direction. She turns toward me and with lead feet I begin walking toward her. I want to move faster, the anticipation of seeing you building up in my stomach, but I can’t. I’m too tired, the walls of the hallway suffocating me as they press even closer. And Hermione knows it.
It seems like it’s hours before I make it to her side, and when I’m finally there, she looks down at her feet before she can look at me. It looks like she’s bracing herself for something, because her shoulders are tensing and her hands are clenched so tight they’re white.
“Draco, don’t let him speak. I think that’s when it happens.”
I can’t speak to her. My voice won’t allow me. And so I look at her, asking her what she wants me to ask.
“When he begins pulling energy.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a croak. Hermione folds her arms and gives me a stern look. I don’t look back at her, but at the door. I shouldn’t see you, because I might fall; but I’m determined to prove that I won’t. I’m growing agitated and my feet are shuffling. I’m scared witless, but I want to see you, and Hermione grabs my arm as soon as she sees me try to move to the door.
“We’ve sent Aurors in there, and as soon as he sees them and tells them to leave, they fall to the floor. We’ve put a range of living things in there with the Aurors, like plants and animals, and they all wither or drop dead. He’s pulling, Draco, and it’s dangerous.”
The temptation to ask her why she’s letting me see you is not strong enough to overcome my pull toward the door. I reach out impatiently to see if I can push it open, but Hermione grabs me again and I groan.
“Just because you haven’t seen Harry for a week doesn’t mean you’re any stronger, Draco.” She looks pleadingly at me, but I look away. “Please, be careful.”
I hear her, but the door is opening and I’m already pushing through it, my stomach knotting more and more, tighter and tighter. Waterfalls are filling my head with raucous sounds and I’m moving as fast as I can, already feeling your fingers on my back, in my hair. But as soon as I’m in the room, there is only whiteness. I hear the door close behind me, and as I look to my side, I see a mirror on the wall. On the other side, I know they are watching me. I would try to straighten, try to look indifferent, but my stomach is falling through my legs and into my feet.
This can’t be a trap. They can’t keep me here, from you.
I am about to turn toward the mirror and yell, if I can, but I hear a door open on the opposite side of the room, and I stop. It looks like a dark, gapping whole in the white walls, and I stand there watching it. Then, from the darkness, you step into the room. You don’t squint or react to the light, but simply stare at me as you advance.
I don’t know how to breathe; I’m drowning. You’re just standing there, with old glasses and old clothing, almost the spitting image of who you were before you left me. And you’re just standing there. Watching me. I don’t know what to do, because something is different. It’s as if I’m in my O.W.L.s all over again, dumbfounded and confused - I’m being tested and I feel as ignorant as Crabbe or Goyle.
You take a step toward me, and I toward you, but I’m feeling my knees give, and Hermione’s voice is ringing in my head.
If you faint, you won’t see him again.
I can’t faint, you can’t let me faint. Please, don’t let me faint. I can’t let them get in the way. They might keep us apart for another ten years, and I can’t live much longer than that without you.
“Potter,” I wonder if they can hear me, and I glance furtively at the mirror before focusing back on you. I open my mouth, but you cut me off.
“Harry.” Your voice is rough, and I flinch. I can’t help but stumble forward a little, despite my best effort to stand straight. My energy is seeping from me.
“Potter.” I swallow hard before continuing. I cannot call you Harry now, not while they watch us; you always used to make me call you Potter. I wonder if it’s because you never wanted me to become attached to you back at Hogwarts.
“I’ve been wondering when you’d show up, Potter.” My feet and hands hurt, but I must act as normal as possible and not convey my weakness. You watch me closely, peering at me from behind your glasses. I shudder. “Do you know how long it’s been? Ten years. Ten very long years. You left all of us hanging, all alone. I don’t think you can understand what pain your selfishness has caused; Weasley’s gone off the deep end, which only ever makes Hermione cry, and the Weaslette is destined to live out her life as an old maid.
“I, on the other hand, remain perfectly-” I gulp, and feel sweat break out on my forehead. Hermione’s wrong; you pull even when you’re not talking. You’re just walking toward me and I can feel myself falling. I try desperately to keep myself upright. “Perfectly fine.”
There is barely any space between us now, and I look at you in agony. I can’t think about how little dignity I have; I need to focus on getting us out of here, getting me out of here. My fingers stretch and I want to touch you, but I refrain, and force my hands to stay at my sides. I have to get out of here if I want to see you again.
“Draco.” I am caught off guard, my thoughts distracting me, and I gasp and grab your shirt, struggling to stand. Your hands grab me, and I can feel blood rush from my legs and head to where you hold my arms. I attempt to push you away and stumble backward, panting, my vision hazy again, my head exploding with sounds of showers and rainfall. I try to step back without falling down, but my legs shake.
I have to get out of here before I fall, otherwise I’ll never see you again.
“I have to go.” I move to turn, but you step forward, your brow furrowing as you begin to frown.
“You can’t,” and you grab my arms again. I struggle to get away, your grasp on me is too tight. I want to tell you why I can’t stay, explain to you, but my mind’s going blank and I’m kicking you. You only pull me toward you and hold tighter, but I can feel myself convulsing, my hands and knees and feet flailing against you. I’m gulping huge amounts of air, but it’s like swallowing razors and they’re tearing a path down my throat into my lungs. My chest is against your chest, and my heart is trembling against your stagnate one. My world is crashing down in time with the shouts coming from behind me.
Now we, together, are drowning in an ocean of water that is falling, falling falling on us. And I am being battered by the waves, the sounds that will take me to my death as my limbs collapse and my heart falters. You alone hold me as my head dips back and I swallow the water, the room and the Aurors turning on their heads as I buckle and fall.
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