Losing Faith

𝟑𝟕

More than anything, Draco didn't want to be there right now, when all he could think about was what he was losing, or had already lost — it seemed wrong and even absurd to be there.

But his mother was adamant, she did not even want to hear about staying at home, she continued to assure him that she was fine and could withstand this evening, perhaps her last appearance in society; It made Draco feel guilty... helpless, because he didn't want to take away from her one of her joys of life, so now he was there — at the Greengrass Mansion, celebrating Astoria's birthday. And the only good thing about that evening was that at least it wasn't the summer house where four months ago he had taken a step into the abyss.

On the one hand, everything was as usual, everything was familiar — the quiet melody of the violin, the floor polished to a shine, people scurrying back and forth in fancy clothes, the clink of glasses and quiet laughter, huge silver vases with decorative white roses and the usual cold light pouring from a crystal chandelier.

But on the other hand, it seemed to Draco that everything was not as usual — there seemed to be fewer people than he was used to seeing at events of that kind, less fun and sincerity in the eyes of the guests, the atmosphere seemed more tense, more depressing, and it even seemed to him that the musicians were out of tune, making him wince at the creaking sound of the violin.

There was no Faith next to him, who liked to sway to the melodies of musical instruments as if it didn't sound like a funeral march to her. His mother looked tired and pale, barely standing on her heels, trying not to betray her deplorable state to some wizards with whom she was talking. And Astoria — Astoria cast constant glances at him from the other end of the hall, as if expecting something from him but he pretended he didn't notice.

He felt bad, out of place, he felt more lonely than ever, standing in the middle of at least a hundred people, he felt annoyed at being there and he could have given everything to be in his empty and quiet house right now.

If it hadn't been for Narcissa, who was sick, if she had only been healthy, he would never have come there in his life, he would never have forced himself to suffer so much, he would not have felt obliged and responsible to watch over his mother, to make sure that everything was still alright with her, that he still hadn't lost her, that she was still with him, at least she was still with him — he did it for her.

He knew that it was already deep night outside, that the snow storm had subsided, leaving white mountains of snow shimmering in the moonlight, and he had to loosen his tie to resist the urge to leave right now and feel the frost sting his cheeks with cold needles.

He desperately looked for someone with whom he could pass the rest of the evening, hoping that the time would pass faster, he desperately ignored Astoria still staring at him, hoping that she would not dare to approach him, and when his gaze fell on those who could be his salvation, he did not even try to restrain a relieved exhalation; his legs were already carrying him towards them.

"Draco," Pansy greeted him with a slight nod, and saluting with her glass, she drained it, wincing slightly, probably from the bitterness of the drink. "I didn't think you'd come."

Her slightly misty gaze swept over the space behind him, and Draco could have sworn that he saw the contempt on her face — for her, this was also the last place she wanted to be. Not because it was Astoria, or because Pansy didn't like such events — it was just not appropriate to arrange an annual celebration... not after all that had happened.

"My mother." He said briefly, and sighed, finding the figure of Narcissa standing surrounded by people.

Her noticeably tarnished hair was out of her hairstyle, but she didn't seem to pay any attention to it, she was enjoying the attention of others, communication, she was enjoying the atmosphere — probably her last appearance in society. Draco could see it by how actively she was conducting a conversation, by the way she had already changed a dozen interlocutors — she was enjoying it while she still could.