Coping Mechanisms

22. Draco

"You should be out there."

"No, I shouldn't."

"I think you're wrong."

"It doesn't bloody matter what you think."

Theo's voice echoed loudly in Draco's head, the volume almost excruciating. He could still feel their eyes on his back, burning through the knitted fabric of his sweater. Storming off had been a childish thing to do, but he couldn't bear to be on the quidditch pitch any longer, under the scrutiny of Theo. Or more importantly, the scrutiny of Granger. Quidditch had made him happy once, but happiness wasn't something he deserved. And her presence only reminded him of the things he couldn't have.

So he'd left, wandering aimlessly through the halls until he'd found himself in the sixth-floor boys' bathroom, an old impulse, like muscle memory. Draco hadn't been there since the incident in sixth year, and it felt like walking into a dream. The octagonal room was just as he remembered, three sets of sinks lined up under the gated windows, iron frames outlining each diamond pane. Nine reflections of his own profile stared back at him in the accompanying mirrors, his pale skin almost gray in the dull light. The room was dry, the haze lifted. There was no waterlogged floor, no body in its center, and no crimson flowers of blood floating around it. That moment had long since passed, the only proof it had happened on the marred skin of his torso. And in the memory of two boys, a dead professor, and the ghost phasing through a stall behind him.

"Hello, Elizabeth," Draco said, regarding her silhouette in the mirrors.

"Hello, Draco," her high pitched voice rung, hiccupping with false tears. "I was wondering if you'd ever visit me this year." She regarded him with momentary disdain, but a smile crept onto her phantom lips, a sharp contrast to the perpetual sadness in her eyes. Her hair was in its permanent pigtails, thick glasses pushed high on her nose. The Ravenclaw garb she wore floated aimlessly in the air, the bathroom stall evident behind her sheer form.

"I'm sorry for the long absence," he apologized, turning fully in her direction. Draco leaned his hips against the sink, crossing his arms as she drew closer still.

"It's alright," she giggled shrilly, arms limp at her sides. "Time means nothing when you're dead." Her face softened. "Though I have missed being called by my pretty name."

"You could ask it of other people," Draco suggested. Elizabeth's face grew harsh again, the sadness only amplified in her colorless expression.

"You're the only one who's ever listened."

Draco shifted his stance, eyes falling to his feet. Memories of sixth year flooded back to him, of all the times he'd sought out Elizabeth's comfort. It seemed almost trivial that she'd find similar solace in a name, the little compensation he could offer. She'd been the closest thing to a friend he'd had, and the only one who knew what he'd really gone through. If a simple name could make up for all the times she'd listened, then Draco would call her nothing less.

He, more than anyone, understood the impact of an unwanted title.

"Why aren't you out there?" Elizabeth asked somberly, breaking Draco from his thoughts. She hovered next to him now, head tilted down to her shoulder. Her gaze was locked out the window on the grounds below and Draco didn't have to follow to know what she was looking at.

"It's not a welcome place for me anymore," he shrugged, biting back the bitterness in his voice. Elizabeth didn't deserve his anger.

"But you loved Quidditch."

"I don't think the Slytherin student body wants an ex-Death Eater representing their team."

Elizabeth hiccupped another sob. "But Blaise is down there."

Draco kept his eyes straight ahead. "That's his choice."

"You still have them, you know."

"What?"

"Choices."

Draco scoffed. "I think I've lost those privileges."

Elizabeth giggled as she floated into his view, her movements unnaturally jerky.

"That's quite the un-Malfoy thing to say."

The muscles of Draco's arms stiffened beneath his sweater. "Maybe I don't want to be Malfoy anymore."

The ghost studied him thoughtfully, like she was trying to find the correct piece in a puzzle.

"You aren't him," she stated, suddenly spinning away, causing her pigtails to sway haphazardly behind her.

"Who?" he asked, taking an abrupt step away from the sinks. Elizabeth stopped near the stall she'd come from.

"Your father."

Draco swallowed, his jaw suddenly tight. "How do you know?"

Elizabeth fixed her gaze at him over her shoulder, expression firm and determined.

"Because he would never call me Elizabeth." She turned fully towards him, head tilted to one side again, like it was too heavy to keep holding up. "And because he'd be down on that Quidditch pitch, acting like nothing ever happened."

"But things did happen," Draco breathed, turning back to the sink, hands firmly gripping its porcelain edges, causing pain to shoot through his bandages. A loose wisp of blonde fell into his eyes, and déjà vu threatened to swallow him whole. Another day in the mirror, Potter's reflection behind him, and the Sectumsempra spell that had torn him apart. Even now he could feel them prickling beneath his shirt, ribbons of scars decorating his chest like lightning. It seemed only fitting that the ugliness inside him be reflected on the outside too.

Elizabeth's telltale cries echoed behind him, but he'd known her long enough to know they meant nothing more than the sound they created. She just wanted to be heard in death, like she hadn't been in life.

"You're not the same Draco that would visit me before," she remarked between sniffles. "I think I like this one better." He studied her again through the mirror, her eyes a haunting reflection of his own. She smiled weakly at him, twirling a wisp of hair between her luminous fingers.

"Come back soon," she whispered, her murky form retreating.

"I will," he promised, before she phased back through the stall, the toilet flushing with her departure.

"I will."

---------------------------------------------

1996

"Can you call me Elizabeth?"

"You don't like Myrtle?"

"No, I don't."

"Okay, Elizabeth."

~

"Will you visit me again?"

"Of course."

~

"Nobody missed me when I was alive."

"I don't think anyone will miss me when I'm dead."

~

"I mean he's sensitive, people bully him too, and he feels lonely and hasn't got anybody to talk to, and he's not afraid to show his feelings and cry..."

~

"Her name is Elizabeth."

~

"Don't... Don't... tell me what's wrong... I can help you..."

"No one can help me."

~

"I wish things had turned out differently..."