Haunted

15 | lips of wine

A/N: Please check out end note.

"Draco, dear, I believe you know Hazel?" Narcissa posed the question innocently, as if she had not just sprung an uninvited dinner guest on her son; the one dinner guest who could simultaneously drag him into both heaven and hell. Draco could only gape, his dry mouth hanging open like an expressionist painting as he stood rooted to his spot just beyond the door to the conservatory. His system was flooded with an anxiety he hadn't encountered since the day he'd found out she'd been captured, sending electricity bolting across his nerves.

It was warm. Way too warm. Panic presented as heat, and he was full of it. Though he wasn't even wearing a shirt underneath his sweatshirt, he was sure he was beginning to perspire through the thin fabric.

He could feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest, the sensation comparable to the vibrations that he experienced with each clap of thunder overhead. Only where the thunder was muffled with magic, the stampeding of his heart was constant and so booming that it was nearly painful, the organ battling his ribcage in its attempted escapes.

Granger was staring at him in a similar manner, her eyes gone wide. Emotions that he was too overwhelmed to decipher swam in her hazels. She broke her gaze away from him to glance back at Narcissa, the movement of her neck jerky and awkward. "Wait— Malfoy is your son?" she asked, her tone incredulous, breathy and almost nasally from disbelief.

His brain whirled, trying to process the entirely unbelievable fact that not only was Granger standing in the conservatory, but she was his mother's companion. What alternate universe had he stepped into, shucking the logic of his own reality? What in the ever-loving fuck was going on?

This was too much, far far too much. Perhaps he was hallucinating; Yes, that would explain everything. The excessive vomiting had induced a state of hallucinatory dehydration, so Granger was, in fact, a figment of his imagination, a mirage. None of this was real.

It couldn't be real.

But he knew hallucinations— by Merlin, he knew hallucinations. They seemed real when you weren't paying attention, when you allowed yourself to dive into the pictures that your brain conjured, but the moment you became aware, everything would fade a little, grow hazy. You would suddenly notice glaring inconsistencies screaming at you to realize your presence in fantasy. But he'd acknowledged the hallucination and it was still crystal clear. He was still standing in front of his mother with Granger balking at her side, and instead of murkiness there was only clarity. So stunning that it was almost like he'd removed a film over his vision, like he'd put on glasses for the first time to reveal some fourth dimension.

Granger's eyes, so bright. Her hair, so full. Her confusion, so visceral that he could feel it too. Or no, wait, the confusion was his own. Or was it hers? Or was it both of theirs? Theirs theirs theirs. Them. Him and Granger. Something shared between the both of them. Something shared.

Draco forced himself to clear his throat, if for no other reason than to remind himself that this was truly happening. Get it together. He shouted the words in his head loud enough to bring back the migraine, the ache in his head reemerging like cracks in a poorly built wall. The effects of Tippy's potion were fading, and without them to stitch him back together, stuffing was peeking out of his ripped seams.

This was real. It was real and the room was too warm and he was going to collapse. Yes, he was going to collapse. Not in front of Granger, though, that was something that he could not do. No, no, no.

Narcissa chuckled, a light sound that was a poorly hidden attempt to diffuse the tension between the three of them, or more accurately, between the two. "Well, I call him Draco, but yes," she answered, eyes twinkling as she looked Draco over, her gaze warm and maternal in a way that made him itch. Get it together, he said again. He couldn't let any of this show on his face, couldn't let either of them know just how quickly he was deteriorating. Get it together.