Boy - (A 'Blaire Zabini' sequel) || Draco Malfoy

7 - The Madness of Draco Malfoy

Jack stopped talking; didn't utter a single word since Ginny had returned him to me.

And he'd started drawing again, parchment after parchment of stick figures dressed in black cloaks and angry expressions upon their faces.

"He's probably just missing Mr Dog," Hermione tried to assure me as she pressed a hand to her still flat stomach. "Just give him time."

"It's been six days," I said exasperatedly, wringing my fingers through my hair. "Surely this is not normal?"

"None of this is normal," Ron sighed heavily, his eyes lingering sadly on Hermione; a doleful look flitting across his face. "We're all just taking each new day as it comes."

I knew what was going through his mind, that this was not how he wanted to start a family with Hermione; being stuck underground with a Slytherin and a Malfoy junior for roomies.

It wasn't so much that we were living with the bare necessities, (although, thankfully, due to certain witches and wizards who were adept at transfiguration, it wasn't too unbearable) but to bring a life into a world without sunshine or fresh air, where every day we lived in fear of being caught and brutally murdered seemed unfair and cruel.

"You'll both do amazing," I promised, leaning across the table to squeeze Ron's hand. "Jack wouldn't be half the child he is today if it wasn't for you two."

We all glanced down at Jack, observing as he furiously covered another piece of parchment with angry black cloaked stick men.

"Yeah," Ron said, emitting a low nervous chortle as he ran a long finger along the inside of his neck collar.

Fuck, our kids were screwed.

*****

Draco stopped sleeping; hadn't been able to ever since his encounter with the boy.

His and Blaire's child.

He moved himself to the spare bedroom so as not to disturb Astoria whilst he lay awake every night staring at the Scottie Dog that he constantly twirled around in his fingers. 

He wanted desperately to hold it up to someone and ask if it was real, or was it in fact his mind playing tricks on him again? He couldn't trust anything anymore. Everything he saw, everything he touched, he wondered if it was really there.

That boy had looked real, but he couldn't have been. The Monopoly piece felt solid beneath his fingers, but was it?

He supposed it wasn't far fetched that he would have come across it in the grounds of Hogwarts. It probably had been on Blaire's person during the explosion, after all.

Perhaps finding it was what triggered the delusions? Yes, that made sense. A psychiatrist would agree. Perhaps he should see one, but he feared word leaking out that he was going crazy. Voldemort had no time for Death Eaters with PTSD; he'd most certainly be killed.

But if this Scottie dog was the reason he was suffering with delusions, then why wasn't the child appearing before him as he held it now?

Draco couldn't help but feel stabbing disappointment, and this made him laugh - he actually wanted to go mad; wanted to see things that weren't there.