𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

3 | ﴾ Password ﴿

Narcissa wheeled Draco down the damp and dark hallway towards his grandmother's old personal quarters as he muttered barely audible insults under his breath. The painting's along the walls were mainly dozing during the afternoon, ignoring the rare intrusion on the normally silent corridor as they approached the final door in the hallway corner, directly next to a glittering green stained glass window.

Back in the room, hardly any sunlight was able to peak into the space through the drawn black curtains which were as thick as two inches, resembling more carpets than drapes in dexterity. She lit a fire for him as he watched with a deep frown, tears running down his cheeks silently.

"Can you open the curtains? It's like a tomb in here. Might as well leave me here to rot," he grumbled pessimistically. 

Narcissa panted in irritation as she moved around the space ripping the thick fabrics open, allowing the summer sunlight to blare into the room. The difference in the atmosphere was shocking, "Enough with the morbidities. You've been informed that you will recover; this is a temporary stage. Be grateful." She opened one of the enormous windows a crack, as that was all it would allow after being shut for so many decades. The wooden creak it released was nearly earsplitting.

Draco rolled his neck, wincing, "That demonic girl isn't temporary. Why did you choose her? Couldn't you have just left Astoria to pester me for the rest of eternity?" His gaze followed her as she moved around the room setting him up to be trapped there in mild comfort like a neglected elderly person in a retirement home.

His mother pulled back the fresh covers she'd added to the ancient bed frame and propped up the pillows. She brought all sorts of parchment, ink and books to the bedside for him to busy himself with. "You chose her, Draco. And if I recall correctly, Madeleine has never been demonic. She sacrificed quite a lot for the war. She saved your life in doing so. Give it time. You both need to heal."

He stared at the fire as his body writhed internally with the agony of having taken a massive hit of the killing curse. Despite being provided exceptional magical medical care, he would suffer for weeks as the recovery would be long and slow, and there was no telling if there would be permanent side effects. It was an unprecedented medical phenomenon.

Little drops of tears left his eyes realizing he would be forced to be inside for the rest of the warm weather, nearly paralyzed for a good chunk of it, and he still had no idea how soon it would be until he could even walk.

He shook his head, "I would never choose a girl like her. Pretentious bitch. Tell me, why does she look so bizarre?" She had been gorgeous in an odd way, but he would never admit that. He was struggling to compute her beady, dark eyes and coy remarks. He would have to continue trying to bring down her confidence so she would stop being so dominating.

Narcissa pushed his chair to the bed and it was another few minutes of his torturous screaming before he was back under the covers, wailing from the excruciation. He continued panting well after he was in a still position, and all of the portraits on the walls of distant relatives had either covered their ears or left to their sister frames elsewhere.

Narcissa used the hem of her long, pristine dress to wipe away his tears and then she brushed his sweaty hair out his eyes, "She didn't always look that way. You'll understand, all in good time. Get some more rest."

After his mother had left he sat there boiling with rage. His eyes were twitching in aggravation at the thought that he'd been married to such a devilish girl. She outmatched his own wicked mannerisms, she had even picked on him when he was so obviously at his lowest point. She thought she was better than him and it pissed him off. The worst part was that he would have to act minimally civil due to the fact that she had somehow saved his life.