A Throne of Blood and Stars

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Two days turned into a week.

Harry Potter.

Blaise Zabini.

Jiovanni Ricci.

Neville Longbottom.

There was a blizzard the weekend after they disappeared. Ron had pushed everyone away, had rather chosen to stay planted in front of the window in Blaise's room, staring as the minutes ticked by. Not even Hermione tried to console him anymore.

Headmistress McGonagall had sternly instructed Draco to stay out of it, had slightly blackmailed him with her permission to let him roam free with an officially unofficial completed sentence. She told him to keep his peace within the castle walls lest he be bombarded by the awaiting press outside the premises that seemed to be permanently stuck to the border lines by the bridge.

A week after that, George showed up unannounced, a pouting Fred in his arms and Molly by his side. They were in Blaise's room for seven minutes before Draco heard something shatter. When he raced in to see what had happened, Ron was twitching beside a broken vase with his chest heaving. George was shielding his son while Molly was hiding behind her older son, clutching his sweater with terror-stricken eyes upon her face. They haven't returned since.

Luna had suddenly made it her goal to never leave Draco alone on the third week. She was always there, somehow, comfortingly enough, holding a bouquet of Blink-Aways and Dragon's Breath with a kind smile. More often than not, Draco's mind would wander about Harry when he'd see the white Blink-Aways swaying to the rhythm of the soft wind. And oddly enough, the thought of his mate in relation to such a soft contrast was alleviating enough to stop the dark side of his head from conjuring the worst case scenario.

By the fourth week, Headmaster McGonagall had dismissed the Eighth years during the open investigation of the Missing Four, as the Daily Prophet had undesirably provided. She had stamped Draco's documents officially, which deemed him a free man with a completed sentence and the liberty to do what he wanted.

But all Draco wanted was Harry.

Every day apart from his mate was making his core deteriorate, tearing him apart from the inside out. It was painful, and sometimes Draco barely found the energy to be the Omega his colony needed him to be, but he had duties he simply couldn't ignore. And he couldn't complain much because Luna was also experiencing the same things and she never seemed to complain. He had to find pride in that.

At the end of the fourth week, well into the end of January, Draco was tired. He barely found the energy to leave his room anymore, but something about today kept calling to him. There was a voice in the back of his mind that kept nagging him to get up, to do something, to do anything.

Something about today felt important.

So he lifts his heavy shoulders off the mattress that doesn't smell like Harry Potter anymore and trudges down the cramped, crooked steps of Gryffindor Tower. The entrance to Slytherin Tower isn't as grand as the dungeon entrance, but it still manages to make Draco feel better about being a Slytherin and not a Gryffindor.

His redheaded target is still in the same place Draco left him last night, before the tall window besides Blaise's bed, his eyes hooded and searching for something that just isn't there. He doesn't need to make his presence known, he can tell that Ron notices his appearance from the way he squares his shoulders to look bigger.

"What happened, Ron?"

"I don't know."

"How did Blaise disappear?"

"I don't know."

"Where--"

"I said I don't know, for fuck's sake!"