House of The Rising Sun

Chapter Eight

Now

Draco slid down the side of the dresser and collapsed to the floor.

The humidity had never felt so stifling.

He pressed his forefingers to the bridge of his nose until it felt as though spikes were piercing their way through his brain. The amount of memories he had just experienced were so much more than just Legilimency. He knew the emotions were hers, but they swirled and blurred with his own so much he started to lose his grasp on where and when he really was.

Was he really so cruel?

He knew he was a prat at Hogwarts and he'd be hard pressed to find someone who disagreed with that statement. He also knew that she had held back significantly, refusing to show her hand no matter how infuriated he became.

She had an impressive amount of control in her mind, though when she had learned a shred of Occlumency, he had no idea.

Greyback's death was celebrated, though it was never mentioned to him who had done it. That she could have died in the battle his mother beckoned her to by a werewolf who prided himself on murdering and eating children.

What had Narcissa bribed her with?

She must have had some incentive beyond the apparent hero-complex. Money? The flat in the city?

He posited for a second that Narcissa might have just offered up her son entirely, but he hadn't been pushed any which way after his release. Maybe Macaria had really grown to hate him over the year. She could have finally come to her senses in that regard.

Having any kind of strong feeling for Draco Malfoy that wasn't rooted in disdain never seemed to help anyone and he didn't intend to break that streak.

It didn't matter how he was seeing her then. He knew she was better off with distance and especially from his boundary-crossing-potentially-Unbreakable-vowing family.

Though, how she had wanted to stop him from crossing the courtyard, her devastation every time he kept down his disastrous path, and the hope she'd allowed herself to have in that he would do the right thing - it made it very difficult to not run after her. Tell her that he didn't want to be somewhere else.

He knew it must have hurt when he told her he had bribed someone to find the address of the house. If he were honest, he had never forgotten.

If he had to fend off a mob of do-gooders attempting to murder him, he'd rather have a witch who knew her way around a duel at his side.

He thought it also might have said something that she hadn't gone back to her old flame, even though he seemed willing, and she had loved him. Or had she and he was just waiting for her after this mess was over with?

A hot spike of jealousy went through his core at all he didn't know of his year away.

-

"How did you..."

Macaria was at a loss, staring agape at the curly-haired witch only a few feet away. Her mind blanked at the impossibility.

Of course the brightest witch of their age would figure out where they were.

"Is he here?" She raised an eyebrow, gently setting her palms atop the counter. "Is Mal-"