𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

42 | ﴾ The White Witch ﴿

It was a rainy and showery day when Draco returned back to the Manor Sunday morning, eager to bathe and to simply spend hours cuddling with his wife in recovery. The landscape was dim and foggy, calling for a fire, warm blankets, and a beautiful girl to hold.

During the long trip home on the Bamboo train, he'd laid on his back and tossed a bizarre fruit up and down into the air with excited anticipation for the look on her face when he gave her the rock.

However, there was also the extremely sinister new knowledge that they'd mysteriously had a past even farther back yet, which he wasn't sure how to bring up.

She had been strangely sweet in their seventh year; or at least, when she wasn't able to speak, and not plagued by the cruel world of the dark lord. She had inadvertently saved his life by getting him through his lowest point, and no one had even known. Well, one person had regrettably found out.

The heavens had opened up to bathe the black mansion. Steam rose from the sweltering tower stone, and water poured off of the poisonous structure as if in a blind effort to cleanse it of it's sinful aura.

Draco went first to his bedroom to recharge and change. Dirt ran in rivers off of his freshly tanned skin, staining the white bubbles in his tiled bath. He hung his head back and toyed with the Moonstone around his neck, which he'd affixed to a golden chain to match her original heirloom.

He had a fascinating obsession with making things for Madeleine to wear. It was like marking his territory with precision detail. He had made her the golden cuffs to ease her experience of the overnight magic reduction, and ensured that the Moonstone would remind her of the prior jewelry. During the war, he'd even aggravatingly sewed her a ballet dress with extravagant clippings she'd rudely sliced up on his floor.

When he was ready he leapt up the stairs in soft black clothing that clung to his athletic body. The rain pattered in a disorderly orchestra against the windows, transforming ten am to a dusky hue. He knocked on her white door which was the only one of it's variety in the cave like corridor, standing vibrant and luminous like a sore landmark in the insidious Manor.

When she didn't respond to his raps, he tried the handle only to find that it was locked. Even magic would not permit him entry. "Madeleine, open this door at once," he sternly demanded with his forehead on the wood to eavesdrop.

She tore it open angrily, hanging in the frame with both arms to prevent his access. He tripped back a step in surprise. He spent all of one second innocently giving her a distraught reaction when his gaze fell on her unencumbered wrists in mortification, "How the fuck did you manage to free yourself Madeleine? You know how dangerous your condition is overnight."

"'ow was Cambodia, Draco? You look like a burnt piece of toast," she snarled at him. He furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief; how on Earth she had found out about his loathsome weekend plans was beyond him.

She had clearly just been woken up by means of his inquiry, as her long hair was messy and pouring down her shoulders in frazzled waves. The colour had been reverted to it's natural ivory tone, which in truth was far easier on Draco's eyes. She wore a shimmering blue slip and a long white cloak, probably tossed on in her sudden awakening, leaving the pearly hood to drape over her forehead defensively.

"What would you know about Cambodia? Aren't you going to invite me inside at least?" he asked with hardening eyebrows. He frowned at the unsuspectingly sour interaction.

"No," she griped, narrowing her obsidian eyes at him. "You would want to know where I 'ad been." She slumped to one side, still holding up her arms stiffly across the opening, and raising her eyebrows in taunt. If she was still shackled he would've shoved past her, but she was acting intimidating and threatening.