BANALITY : Draco Malfoy

78

I barely last down here. I cook meals for myself and say hello to the muggle women who sometimes are in the kitchen. They spend some time together in the recreational room, and a couple of them I notice come and go. Since there is no lift, they are forced to move up five flights of stairs in order to get to the outside world. I found out that three of them go to work during the day. One is local, but the other two have been here long enough to get jobs. I don't ask them for details about their lives, and they return the favour.

It reminds me, somewhat, of how Draco and I lived when he first found me in Inverness. The pair of us had an understanding. We didn't ask questions. He wouldn't touch my hair, and I wouldn't remove his clothes.

The deal is still somewhat accurate. I've never seen his arms bare, likely due to the presence of the dark mark on him. He never wears anything less than a long sleeve shirt when I am around. I know what it looks like, theoretically. Its image was in the piles of documents I went through in both Harry's study and Terry's home. Yet, I've never actually seen it in person, or his specifically.

Soon enough, I'm going crazy. There are no windows. Everywhere I turn, there is another wall. Everything down here is an ugly shade of beige, from the walls to the floors. The ceiling and the sheets are white, and the furniture is brown.

The muggle clothes they brought me are scratchy. Now I've got a bunch of thick jumpers in neutral colours, as well as a few pairs of jeans. I never thought I would say that I miss the flannels that I wore in Inverness. Wearing them was a very Jane thing to do, and it feels odd to miss that part of her.

On the second day that I am there, I manage to make the trek up the five flights of stairs to ask for a copy of The Daily Prophet from the day before. Parisa gives it to me, so long as I read it in the recreational room on this floor, rather than on the floor for muggle women. So, I do.

There are children buzzing about the room. None of them have wands, but they do play wizarding games like exploding snaps, and they eat candy which makes them hover above the ground and causes their tongues to grow long until they hang out their mouths, past their chins. When one of the kids starts to bother another, a father in the room, one of two adults besides me, asks them to knock it off.

I try not to pay attention as I read the article. I've made the front page, albeit the bottom right corner.

MUGGLE-BORN LOST SEVEN YEARS, MAGIC IN MEMORY HATE CRIME

From there, the article details what I told Andy Smudgley during the interview. There are two photos of me on the cover, a blown-up picture of me with Dumbledore's Army, compared to one he took of me in the hospital wing. The only other news in the paper that has anything to do with me involves a bit of information on Pansy Parkinson. She has been cleared of all charges in relation to the attack involving Goyle, who is placing the responsibility for his actions on Blaise Zabini. Zabini is unable to be reached for comment. My name is mentioned briefly in the article as a victim of Blaise's magic. In the meantime, Draco Malfoy is still at large. Harry, in his duties as an auror, has confirmed that the witch in Draco's company in Hogsmeade was not Pansy. For now, it seems that he has kept my name and Draco's separated in their investigation.

On the third day, I make the trek up the stairs again. There is no new information on any of us in the paper. Hopefully, my interview has made the situation at least somewhat tolerable. There is no word from Auror Dawlish on my future. Of course, there is no word from Draco. Even if he was in the country, I doubt he could find me here. Then again, there are very few places where Draco couldn't reach me.

When I return the paper, Parisa gives me a tight-lipped smile.

"Do you have any idea how long I will be down here?" I ask, swallowing.