By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 25: Draco

Draco was beginning to feel like a ghost haunting Shell Cottage. He'd taken to hovering just outside of doorways, listening for the voices that floated out to him before deciding if he should enter the room. Half the time, Granger and Weasley pretended he wasn't there at all, as if they could see straight through him; if Potter was with them, he'd shoot Draco an apologetic look, but he never tried to draw him into the conversation. He certainly wasn't afraid of Weasley or his handsome older brother, of Granger and her discerning brown eyes, of Fleur and her constant stream of chatter, with her laugh that sounded like a twinkling bell—fear wasn't why he crept through hallways and around corners like a little kid sneaking into the kitchen to snag a cookie from the cookie jar. They had clearly decided he didn't have plans to hex them all or to summon Voldemort with a touch of the Mark on his forearm, but that didn't mean the chill that descended over any room he walked into was any less noticeable. He was tired of the glares and the steely silence, the apprehensive glances towards Potter, as if Draco had cast an Imperius charm on him.

He found that avoiding the lot of them was better than pretending Potter's life wasn't moving forward while Draco was only ever standing still. He'd begun taking long, aimless walks along the cliff sides and in circles around the cottage, his trousers rolled up to his knees and the seagrass brushing his skin like a friendly caress. A sort of restless energy had manifested as a light buzzing in his veins, like a bottle of champagne that someone had shaken too many times. The wandering gave him time to think about what he wanted—or at least, about what he didn't want. He had no desire to return to the Death Eaters—not really, not after they'd killed his father and possibly his mother as well, not after they'd told him he was as good as dead himself. Yet he felt unmoored here in this warm house surrounded by Potter's friends. He could tell he was unwanted and unneeded, just as he'd been with the Death Eaters—but that had never stung the way this did, when he'd fought half-heartedly against their demands and expectations like an unruly child, instead of wanting desperately to dig in his heels and keep Potter right where he was, even if that meant Granger and Weasley had to finish off Voldemort without him. Even if that meant Draco wanted Potter to stop being such a bloody hero, to stop being himself.

He had never expected Potter to weave him into his plans, and certainly not to include him in his mission with Granger and Weasley, but he couldn't deny the rubbery panic currently stalking him through hallways and into rooms at the thought that Potter would soon be leaving him behind. He'd been spending more and more time huddled in corners with the other two Gryffindors lately, speaking in hushed, fervent tones—and Draco felt the chasm widening between them with each whisper.

"Malfoy."

Draco turned sharply, thoughts of Potter shattering in his head, his hawthorn wand held in front of him and feet digging into the sandy soil. Granger stood several meters away from him, near the backdoor of the cottage. The breeze off the water made her curls dance around her head like snakes, and Draco knew if she could turn him to stone with her stare, she would. "Granger," he said, lowering his wand.

Granger glanced over her shoulder before taking a few hesitant steps in his direction. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Draco raised his eyebrows but nodded, and she came closer, gesturing with her hand that they should continue down the path. She fell into step beside him, albeit a few paces away, and they walked in silence for several moments. Draco could feel her umber eyes sneaking glances at him, but he kept his own gaze forward. Finally, "What happened to you?"

"Pardon?"

Granger's brow was furrowed, her lip caught between her teeth, and Draco was struck with the memory of mocking her for those teeth when they were children, and a hot flicker of shame slid down his spine. "Something must have happened to you," she explained, her wand tucked behind her ear just as Draco's often was, her hair tangling around the wood like a vine. "Last time I saw you was at the Manor, surrounded by Dark magic. You're a Death Eater." She'd lowered her voice, the words tumbling out of her mouth as a disgusted hiss.