Always, Astoria

45. Paris

September 1997

Paris, France

A terrace looking out into the streets of mindless muggles, with their obscenely awful conversations and dreadfully awful clothing. A mirror with the middle smashed in that now showed the reflection eight times over. A gaudy rug sprawled across the floor that was now covered with empty bottles of whiskey and gin. The four-poster bed in the middle of the room that was never made properly. And finally, a lonely desk that was accompanied by two bookshelves. Upon the desk laid lonely letters, unfinished thoughts, and shredded pieces of parchment.

"Get the fuck out of my bloody room." Draco spat while throwing one of the empty gin bottles at the door.

Draco has been in seclusion (for his "safety") for almost two months, and it is safe to say his time in isolation has been eating away at him. After the assassination of Dumbledore, Lord Voldemort found it prudent to have Draco removed from Britain straight away. The Ministry of Magic has been on high alert to capture Draco since it was discovered he was the assassin. Lord Voldemort has been alternating members of his council to guard Draco's door, so he is not able to travel anywhere without an escort. Draco was having difficulty adjusting to the constant company.

He spent many days sitting out on the terrace and observing the awfully boring people that walked below him. Their many conversations put him in an even worse mood than he usually is.

Draco has read so many novels that his mind was busting with information, and just as he thinks he has finished off the bookshelves, they spawn more literature. He thought as if it was a running gag to cause insanity. The bookshelves were never empty, therefor he should not feel empty, but he did.

The night at the Astronomy Tower was on constant replay in his mind. The final words Dumbledore spoke to him before Draco took his life, "Astoria does not need you; you need her." That constant statement ate away at his thoughts. Draco found himself writing more letters to Astoria explaining the situation but then ripping them up and flying them off the terrace.

Draco did not enjoy venturing out around Paris with an escort, so he stuck to the few walls of the apartment. For the first month he came to terms with that for now he would have to be here so he would not get sentenced to Azkaban, but in many ways, he was in a prison of his own. The prison Lord Voldemort built for him, and the prison of his own mind. When Draco looked in the mirror, he did not recognize himself anymore, so he smashed it to pieces. Now when he peers into mirror, he views eight of an unknown, pale, blond figure staring back at him.

The door of his apartment began to creek open once more and Draco became more furious this time around.

"I said... get the FUCK OUT!" Draco said while attempting to slam the door shut on who he thought was guarding the door.

"Hey, Mate easy!" Theo said while shoving the door open.

Draco was taken aback, for he had not seen Theo since before the procedure on Astoria. To say he was glad to see a friend from home was an understatement, but his ego took over his emotion.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Nott?" Draco said while grabbing a bottle of firewhiskey off the bar cart.

"I am here to keep you company during your erm—hidin' out time." Theo said lowly.

Draco sat on an armchair and took slugs of his bottle every few seconds.

"I do not understand if you are here then—"

Theo proceeded to roll his sleeve up to reveal his forearm. His forearm bared the Dark Mark and Draco realized that his best friend was now a Death Eater.