Unbound

chapter six.

This had been the second time Draco found himself apparating away to Malfoy Manor following a discussion with or about Granger.

The first time, he was too anxious and shaken to remember which hotel he was staying at and before he could make up his mind, he found himself in the foyer of his childhood home. It was a complete accident, but given his day and how tired he found himself to be, he stayed in his old room until Severus had popped in hours later.

The second time was now.

Just as the last time, the Manor was dark and cold, reminding Draco of the absence in his life. He checked his pocket watch, noting the time ― half past 9. Draco hated being here, and after the extended use of his occlumency walls and seeing Granger for the first time in years, he needed a moment alone.

No, not alone.

With someone ― the only person Draco knew would understand.

Draco wanted Narcissa.

As he walked through the grand entrance and through the vast halls, letting his feet lead him to the garden, Draco let his mind berate itself, damning him for letting the day get to him. He was never emotional; his occlumency was used to avoid this exact thing. He never let his mother see him hurt, struggling, and tired, but here he was, walking to see her once again.

The cool night air hit him like a swift slap in the face that sent shivers through his body as he let the door shut closed behind him, leaving him outside the Manor and in his mother's favorite place.

Her rose garden.

After Narcissa died, Draco found himself empty, lifeless and hating himself for not being there. If he couldn't save her, he could have at least found her body and taken her away to give her a proper final resting place.

But he didn't.

When he came home, sick of standing atop his mother's ashes, and found Lucius gone already, Draco was close to exploding. It was an odd feeling, having so many emotions simmering within him once, he was left feeling numb and empty inside. He never would have thought it was possible ― numb pain ― but when his mother was ripped away from him in this world and into the next, she took all of Draco's happiness and hope with her.

That night he let himself feel everything. He let himself explode.

He threw things against the walls, crashing and shattering vases and glasses, trying to get something out of the hate he felt, burning him alive from the inside out. Glass was strewn across the room, crunching underfoot. He wondered what it would feel like if he let himself be cut by it ― would the physical pain numb the emotional?

Draco had pulled every Death Eater mask from his closets, ripping them down from the shelf where they were so meticulously stored and into the drawing-room, throwing them atop a table and letting himself succumb to the fury of emotions burning through his veins. Focusing everything he felt in that moment ― anger, despair, helplessness ― and channeled it through his wand, letting it fuel his magic. He watched as flames engulfed the horrid masks.

He completely let the walls down, drowning the room in his emotions from the beginning of sixth year to now, destroying one thing for every time he felt used or hurt or unsure or vengeful.

He damned himself as he set curtains up in flames and told himself how this was all his fault, he didn't find a way to get out sooner.

If only he had found a way out sooner. The curtains across the room set ablaze.

If only he had answered the call that came from his Mark the moment he got it. A window blown out of its frames.

If only he had said something to the Dark Lord, Death Eater masks sent flying.