And Then I Met You

Counting Down the Days

POV: Draco

Ophelia had gone silent.

A few weeks ago, the golden trio narrowly escaped the iron grasp of my family.

Against all odds, they had managed to disapparate, with the help of my father's former house elf. They had fled, more or less unharmed, and even taken the rest of the prisoners with them.

I was overjoyed by this achievement.

I hated that my parents had taken Luna from her father, and hated them even more for what they did to the golden trio. What they did to Hermione... If I close my eyes, I can still her the screams. Gut-wrenching shrieks, ringing through the halls of the manor.

I had long come to the conclusion that family was cruel, at least the majority of them.

When the golden trio did succeed in escaping, I was overjoyed. Ophelia was too. We suppressed ecstatic smiles to the point where our faces ached, pretending to be severely devastated by the fact that our prisoners had fled.

Alas, the muted celebrations lasted a mere twenty seconds. That's when he showed up.

The dark lord was fuming. Because of us, Harry had slipped through his fingers; he was *this* close to putting an end to the prophecy, and we let his target escape, unharmed.

The most terrifying thing about the dark lords return wasn't the anger, or the yelling. It wasn't the way he slammed his fist on the table and shook me by the collar, demanding to hear how this could've happened.

It was the smile that spread across his face when Ophelia dove in between us, and told him what had happened. While listening to Ophelia lie about how we hadn't been able to recognize Harry, the dark lord looked oddly calm. An expression of faux satisfaction had spread across his face, as if he had suddenly realized something he hadn't before. I was frightened by the way he gently laid a hand on the small of Ophelia's back and led her into a secluded room to further discuss the situation and find a solution.

Though, I suppose, the most haunting thing only came later. Ophelia had gone into the room with an almost confident, tranquil expression on her face. She seemed certain that the dark lord had believed her little scheme. So was I.

But then, I saw her leave the room only an hour later. She was pale as a sheet, sweat running down her temples in little rivulets. And she wasn't talking anymore. At least not beyond the necessary, few exchanges.

Upon interrogation, Ophelia claimed that she was frightened of what would happen now. She told me the dark lord had said that he would simply have to hunt her brother down, a task which he could easily succeed in.

I didn't believe her.

I know Ophelia. Over the years, I've grown well accustomed to her habits, her expressions, the manner in which she hides her emotions. The last time she fell into self destructive habits, she had just found out that her identity wasn't actually "Madison Monroe"; a secret that tore her apart to the verge of destruction. She was barely sleeping, scarcely eating, refusing to engage in conversation. And this time the symptoms were exactly the same.

Though I suppose one thing was different, and strangely, it made the entire thing even worse. There were requests to be close to me at all times, physical contact, comfort, and verbal affection in an abundance I hadn't experienced from her yet.

We were in love, and it was normal to tell the other you loved them before going to bed, it was normal to exchange stolen kisses throughout the day.

But it's not normal to stare at the other vacantly from across the room for hours on end. It's not normal to break into tears after a kiss, and tell the other you love them more than you love yourself, and that you wished you had more time together.

Ophelia is hiding another secret, and it's tearing her apart. It's tearing me apart, not knowing what is going on or what I can do to help.

And so I do whatever I can. I beg her for the truth until I'm on the verge of tears. And when I'm not begging her, I return the breathless kisses, the "I love you", the stares. I tell, no, I promise Ophelia that whatever she's frightened of, I won't let happen.

This war will not separate us, darling. We're just as strong as our love, and as long as we stick together, we simply cannot be parted.

I tell her these words to the point where they ring through my mind, even during my sleepless nights. And during the rest of the restless dark, I pray that I'm right.