Meet Your Match

11. A Perfect Day

The gavel bangs and the courtroom starts to empty. The bailiff pulls him to his feet and the shackles clank loudly in the quiet room. Tears are sliding silently down his mother’s face. She brings her hands up to cover her mouth, and the sight of her losing her composure in public chills him more than the cold iron on his wrists. He tries to give her a brave face. He will be strong for her. It’s only a year. It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse. He should feel relieved, but a year is still a long time.

The heavy door creaks ominously as it swings open, and he thinks it’s ridiculous. Like the front door of a Muggle haunted house. It’s too melodramatic, too on the nose, too fucking cliché. But then the wall of cold hits him and his knees buckle. The guards are pulling him forward, but his feet won’t move. They’re dragging him, and the tops of his bare feet are sliding horribly over the damp stone. It would be better to walk. Why can’t he walk? Because taking a single step into this place is against every instinct of self-preservation, and he’s not strong enough to overcome millions of years of training. He’s not strong.

They dump him in a heap in the corner of his cell. His mother isn’t there, so he drops the brave face. He’s trembling so hard his teeth are rattling, and guttural, wrenching sobs are working their way up his throat. The iron door clangs shut, and he cries out into the dark. A year is a long time to be this cold.

Draco woke up wheezing. His chest was painfully tight, the ring of the closing door impossibly loud in his ears. He wrenched back the sheets and brought a hand to his throat as if he could will his airway to open. Cold sweat drenched his body. 

He fumbled for his wand and quickly lit the lamps around the room. He forced himself to sit up and take in the space around him. Carpet, not stone. Beige walls, not slate. Warm bed, not cold floor. Open door, not locked in.

His breathing slowly returned to a normal pace, and he glanced at the watch on his nightstand. Wonderful. The sun wasn’t even up yet, and he was already completely over this day.

He dragged himself over to the wardrobe, picked out an outfit he wouldn’t mind not seeing for a month, and then headed for the shower.

***

The day dawned obnoxiously warm, and Draco scowled at the blue sky and bright sun before stepping into the café. The sound of the frother burbling merrily and the pleasant scent of fresh coffee and pastries only soured his mood further. What a disgustingly perfect day.

As his eyes fell on Shannon, however, his contempt melted away at once. Of course she deserved a perfect day.

She spotted him by the door and flashed him a cheeky grin. “Well, if it isn’t the bearer of bad news.”

“Bearer of bad news... and gifts,” he said dramatically, producing a wrapped parcel from behind his back.

Her grin widened further as she leaned over the counter for him to kiss her cheek.

“Happy birthday,” he said as she took the present.

“Thank you, darling. Though you know that old adage about your presence being my present?”

He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. You know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. But I have—”

“Your family commitment,” she said gently. “I know. I’m only teasing.

“You’ll be missed,” she added with a pointed look as she moved away to prepare his usual coffee.

“Believe me, I’ll be the one missing out,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes.