𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

81 | ﴾ International War Criminal ﴿

I was virtually paralyzed in my bed. My body hadn't been moved in over a year.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I turned my painfully dry eyes to digest the warm and foreign sunlight washing over my bed spread through the wall of windows. The brightness was incredibly elating; I had made it back after wandering through the hellish netherworld for at least fourteen grueling months.

I gasped, searching downwards dizzily as my finger tips twitched in place. I laid there for a very long time before I was able to sit up. Every single bone in my frail body groaned and cracked angrily and I breathed through the gorgeous agony of feeling my body once again.

I weakly stumbled to the wall with my vision struggling to maintain consistency. Everything spun and my knees kept giving out as I tried to make my way to the door. I eventually succumbed to the reasonability that I couldn't independently walk, although it wasn't exactly in my nature to be patient. I crawled in my long white nightgown over to an expensive umbrella that was propped up against the fireplace mantle.

It was a wobbly endeavor, but I managed to take baby steps out into the hallway, heaving in breaths that sounded haggish and mucosal.

From there downwards I was seriously playing with fire, because if I slipped and fell I would likely break half of my body or just flat out die, effectively sending myself back to the Realm of Death. I clung to the stone railings of the staircases like a jiggly old dementia patient that was making an ill-informed break for it from a retirement home, taking my sweet time in each and every tread with my heart yanking back and forth at the sound of Draco's piano playing gradually getting louder.

When I had passed the staircase level of the silly video game I was playing with myself, the most unexpected obstacle happened to be the ballroom doors. The monolithic stone slabs were so heavy that it took me another further few minutes just to pry them open enough for me to slip through without being crushed like a bug under a shoe.

The fact that I had no ability to prevent them from slamming shut behind me immediately announced my position, lurking around at the entrance to the room like a creepy Mary Poppins with a folded umbrella.

Draco had been playing a very soft and somber tune, lonesome and slow, reminding me of being lost in the rain. He was darned in fancy dress clothing over at the abandoned white piano far across the freezing room, and I watched as he completely halted in place. His fingers relaxed and pressed down on a large number of keys at once.

He froze, rotating his head with steady grace. His eyes at first were suspicious, annoyed even - likely of the assumption that Narcissa had barged in on him without permission - before his mouth dropped open silently and he pushed back from the bench.

I tried to call his name but my throat only groaned in a tight gasp. I must have been a sight to see, standing there hanging onto an umbrella having truly returned from the dead without any warning.

He surprised me by starting to hyperventilate through his nose, his baby blue eyes filled with pooling tears that he blinked away. An anguished frown formed on his lips as he walked towards me rapidly, "No. Not you too, I CAN'T BARE IT!"

The devastated look on his face led my mind to begin racing in disbelief. I choked in a strained effort to respond as he astonishingly barreled straight past me.

He thought I was a ghost, a new addition to the Manor's horror show. He'd given up believing that I would actually wake up. "Drac.." was all I managed to slip out and he paused at the huge silver doors to the room filled with so many memories.

He pressed his head into the astounding door, his shoulders bouncing as he softly wept.

I took another step towards him, only meters away with my fingers trembling towards him, "Draco..."