Project 137.43.M.D.

VIII. | MANIFESTA NON EGENT PROBATIONE

VIII.
MANIFESTA NON EGENT PROBATIONE
(obvious facts need no proof)

After Granger had finally left, Draco had slept through the rest of the day.

When he had heard the door slam shut and had been sure that he was alone, he had immediately buried his face in the freshly made bed and pulled the covers over his head. It had been quite the surprise just how much the information he had received had affected him. But the exhaustion had been so great that, mercifully, he hadn't had to think about it for too long, but had quickly fallen into an almost comatose sleep.

It wasn't until the evening that Draco had woken up again, completely disorientated thanks to the darkness outside the window and the unfamiliar surroundings. He had struggled to his feet, inspected the kitchen and ended up trying almost every dish he could find. He had felt famished, and that had confused him, because he had actually had a normal breakfast at St Mungo's that morning. At some point he had felt sick and crawled back into bed.

The next time he opened his eyes, he realised that the new morning had broken. A soft, subdued light filtered through the curtains, which were only half drawn, and he could clearly hear birds chirping, even though he hadn't bothered to open the window to let in fresh air. The countless singing voices were intrusive despite the double glazing — too many, too loud, too high. Too fucking chipper.

He sat up, stretched himself and cast a brief, annoyed glance outside. Then, as if controlled by a foreign power, he stood up and repeated his unusual behaviour from the previous evening. Food, food, food. Only when he was sick again and felt like he couldn't get another bite down did he resolutely push away the open containers and tins, the contents of which he had stoically stuffed into his mouth for several minutes.

Then, for the first time, he allowed himself to really think about what Granger had revealed to him during their last 'meeting', and something inside him twisted painfully.

His mother was dead.

The news that his father had died in Azkaban left him almost completely cold. During Draco's time at Hogwarts, Lucius had turned to the Dark Side and become hopelessly obsessed with certain delusions. Accordingly, it hadn't been difficult for Draco to first distance himself from his father, at least emotionally, and eventually break contact completely. But the knowledge that his mother was dead was painful. And although he knew, thanks to Granger, that years had gone by since her death, it felt as if it had just happened and he had seen it with his own eyes.

Draco took a shaky breath. He was aware that it was only his imagination playing tricks on him, after all, he had no way of knowing what it had really looked like when his mother had taken her last breath. It was just that his brain was providing him with frighteningly vivid visions.

The twisting sensation inside him intensified.

Nope, he wouldn't allow himself to cry. Still, his throat tightened as he continued to think about it.

About her. About his mum. The only person who had ever made him feel truly loved. Never again would she give him one of those indulgent looks that had been full of affection even when he had behaved like a little bugger. Never again would she stroke his hair, as she had always done when no one (his father) was around to disapprove.

The fact that Granger, of all people, had broken this particular piece of news to him was what annoyed him the most. As if the other information she had thrown at him hadn't been bad enough: the abrupt end to his promising Quidditch career, the bloody accident, his memory loss, his poor physical condition. No flat of his own, no access to his gold and, to top it all off, a weakened magical core.