Dramione Drabble continued
The pain remains, long after the war ends. Draco is a puzzle that cannot be solved. There are pieces scattered around the room. Many of them are missing.
For 14 months, he rots away inside of his home. While on house arrest, he is wracked by impulses ignited by a flame he cannot touch. He cannot see it, but he knows it is somewhere beyond the walls.
The shifts in his mood are unpredictable and he begins to question his sanity. He will be attacked by red hot anger, or consumed by grief. It’s broken up by a burst of tentative joy, laughter bubbling from his chapped lips.
At first, he thinks it is because he is suffering from trauma. He survived the war and much worse. His family was haunted by hatred for so long, he forgot what it was like to feel anything else.
After some time, he realizes it was more than all that. There is something wrong with him. Deeply rooted inside, is a festering wound. He feels incomplete, lost and plagued by flashes of color. They appear just behind his eyelids and just before his mood shifts.
He is wandless, and the fracture in his soul has made it difficult to focus his magic in any reliable way. There is almost always an incident of accidental magic when the color flashes behind his eyes and his mood shifts.
His mother is a free witch and spends most of her time in France at their Chateau while Draco wilts like a forgotten plant in the corner.
Most of the time he has only his memory of a stubborn chin and retreating feet to accompany him. Draco feels dull, dark and dank, like the inside of a hollowed out tree. He watches the seasons change, and every falling snowflake is another reminder that he is still broken and alone.
There is no cure for the pain of an injured soul or a wounded mind. Not until Theo arrives one day, late spring. He enters the house with a crooked smile that barely touches his eyes and a copy of the Prophet rolled up and stuffed under his arm.
Draco doesn’t read the Prophet. When he was put on house arrest, he ordered his house elves to burn every copy that was delivered, refusing to acknowledge reality of the world beyond the gates of Malfoy Manor. They canceled the subscription, instead.
“It’s almost time for you to re-enter the world.” Theo states, as if Draco doesn’t already know. His sentence is coming to an anticlimactic close. There is no celebration planned. Only the sigh of relief as the ankle monitor is finally removed.
“We will need to get you a wand,” Theo says, tossing the paper onto the table where Draco sits, glassy eyed and unkempt.
He thinks about the feeling of a wand in his hand. The idea of having a way to channel his magic sends a thrill down his spine, though he cannot think of a single spell he’d enjoy casting that doesn't set the world on fire.
Theo reaches for a piece of cold toast left on Draco’s plate. He cannot remember the last time he picked up a bite of food and tasted it. Has no memory of eating anything at all.
Theo is quiet and watchful as Draco takes a drink of coffee. It’s cold and bitter, and his tongue recoils at the taste, but he swallows it anyway.
He can hear Theo chewing on the toast, on his thoughts. The air becomes pregnant with them.
The coffee is cold and bitter. His tongue recoils at the taste, but he forces himself to swallow it anyway.
“When was the last time you showered?” Theo finally asks, leaning back in the chair. His fingers drum patiently along the finished wood of the table. It’s reflecting the flickering candlelight of the chandelier overhead.
“I don’t remember.” Draco avoids the wizard’s eyes. He looks from the blurred flames replicated in the glassy tabletop to the untouched plate of food. They drag over the curved edge of the ceramic plates, the dull blade of a butterknife. Finally, they land on the photo printed onto the front page of the Prophet.
He hadn’t read a single issue since his arrest at the end of the battle. He wanted to ignore the world that dared to go on outside while he remained standing still.
Golden Girl Set to Join DMLE After Graduation
The wound at his chest pulses when his eyes land on a photo of Hermione Granger. She blinks up at him, a tentative smile curling the corners of her lips. There is a secret in that smile, daring him to look closer. He hated her before the war. Now, he hates her even more because saved his life without even batting an eye, without ever looking back at the mangled up mess she’s left behind.
The sight of her is enraging in a way that feels like healing, because he feels alive. Suddenly, he has a purpose. He had been drifting bereft in a lonely sea. Suddenly, he can see land on the horizon, glittering with lights and life. Smiling at him, refusing to tell him the secret he desperately needed to hear.
The paper remains in his possession. It sits on the table beside his bed when he sleeps. When he wakes, he finds Granger blinking a message he still cannot decode. Her smile taunts him and his mood swings become even more erratic. Every emotion that pulses through him is stronger than before. He can’t help but look for her face printed in black and white whenever the gears in his body shift.
