The Internal Devices

Chapter 31

As they walked, a meter or so between them, Draco's mind was empty. Not of thoughts–he couldn't help but have those, but of feeling. It used to be so full. Full of snarky one-liners waiting to be used, memories of his mother's voice, the smell of dirty quidditch uniforms, annoyance over a potions essay, fantasies involving a certain pair of brown eyes. Now...there was nothing. Even the most extreme emotions felt lesser somehow.

It wasn't because he was occluding; no, that felt entirely different. When he occluded, it was offensively targeting the emotions and labeling them as unwanted. It was binding them, caging them, refusing to acknowledge their existence. The second he erected those obsidian walls, a sharp cool drained over his being and he became slightly less human, slightly less in tune with his essence. Initially, the sensation was disquieting, but Draco had learned that the mind was resilient. It could become used to almost anything.

After his conversation with Hermione at the funeral, he really had tried to break the habit. It felt so ridiculous. Why did it even matter? Theo wasn't going to congratulate him or show up applauding for finally listening to him. Draco should have stopped occluding when Theo had asked the first time, years ago. Gods...he would do anything to change so many of his actions. There were so many ways he could have been better. So many times his own hubris prevented him from loving Theo the way he deserved, and now it was too late.

The floorboards creaked under Draco's feet and he looked up. There it was. The classroom. He tentatively pushed open the old door, and it swung forward with a cry. When he let his eyes drift over the space, he almost fell to his knees. For some reason, a thin path of footsteps still showed through the dust, making its way to the window as if he had never even left. As if the boy who found solace within these walls was here only yesterday. Draco let his eyes close for a moment, just a moment, and let himself imagine that when he opened his eyes a familiar scene would play out.

'Draco? Draco is that you?'

'Who else would it be, brother? There's no one else who could sit through your incessant screeching on that gods-forsaken instrument.'

Theo would chuckle, and Draco would crack a smile. He wouldn't be able to stay in the doorway very long before striding over to the other boy and clapping him on the shoulder. Then, Draco would hastily amend his previous statement.

'Only kidding, Theo. It's lovely. Was that one of your mother's favorites?'

'No, not this time. This is actually one of mine."

Draco would nod, and release Theo. He would gently lean against the wall. 'Go on, then. I want to hear it all."

And there it would be again–that smile. The smile that made him forget that his friend was dying. The smile that cut through the pain of losing his mother, the pain of living through a war. The smile that reminded Draco he wasn't alone. Then Theo would play, and it would be perfect.

Draco cracked open his eyes. He knew this scene in his mind wasn't real, but the empty classroom still hurt. He swallowed harshly.

"I see him too," Hermione whispered.

Draco flinched. She had been so still he had forgotten she was there. "What?"

"I see him too. In this room. That's why I never come back here alone...he's everywhere. Every centimeter of this room is so totally and completely him."

Draco nodded. She was right. Something in them had needed to see it, but it was too difficult to step inside. Without a word, Draco pulled the door shut. He slumped to the floor and leaned heavily against the wall. He felt like he should be screaming or sobbing or breaking something, but all of those things required so much effort.

Hermione nudged his elbow where she had sunk to the ground beside him, and he looked up. She was uncommonly unreadable, but he assumed his own expression was similar. He raised an eyebrow in query and she tilted her head.

"I think we should accept."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Is that your best attempt at a joke?"

Hermione pinned him with a stare. "Does it look like I'm smiling?" Draco frowned at the question. No, clearly she was not smiling. The issue was, he couldn't remember the last time he saw a smile on her haggard countenance. He couldn't remember the last time he felt his own mouth twitch upward.

"Why."

She sighed. "Honestly, Draco. Look at us. What else are we going to do? Get a job at the ministry and be miserable? Buy flats and read books to distract us from our problems? That's rather pathetic."

"I'm quite happy being miserable, thank you," he responded primly. She thwacked his arm and sighed as if she were just as fatigued. Gods, she made them sound pitiful. He didn't really want to spend time coming up with an elaborate argument, so he stuck with the truth. "I don't want to go."

Hermione turned to face him, mouth pressed into a line. Her eyes drifted to the dark circles he knew were ever-present, and onto his cheeks that had certainly lost their color. "I don't want to go either. But even more so, I don't want to stay."

Draco was silent for a long while before responding. Hermione didn't push him, and stayed on the floor beside him, picking at a loose thread on her shirt. Finally, he sighed. "I don't actually care about finishing our research."

"I know."

"And I don't really care about finding a cure for others. Maybe I should, but I don't."

"Alright."

Draco ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "But you're right. Being here is terrible."

"Yep." The 'p' popped at the end of her word carelessly, and the interchange struck him as ironic. At some point, they were the top students of their year, driven purely out of spite to best the other. Now, they were comrades, lacking in ambition. My, how the tables had turned. A trickle of water splashed onto his forehead, indicating another storm was assaulting the castle. Maybe Boston would at least have more agreeable weather.

So they would go to Harvard, and they would have a job to do, far away from anything familiar. There wouldn't be a soul who knew them, not a single person who identified them by what they had done or what they had lost. He felt a strange sort of relief at the thought. He wasn't naive enough to think he would ever feel exactly normal again, but perhaps in a new place, he would learn how to fake it. Maybe that would be enough. It had to be.

Later that evening, Hermione went downstairs to alert Madam Pomfrey of their decision; Draco remained in the room, packing his things into a small satchel. Hermione had added an undetectable extension charm on it, so he had no trouble. He didn't bother with much clothing. It was much simpler to buy a new ensemble when they arrived. Hermione returned, and they set their belongings at the door. She announced that Madam had arranged for an international portkey in the morning. The portkey would take them to a hotel in Boston, where they would wait to receive further details from Dr. Lyles.

Once all of the necessary words were said, they both fell silent. Draco was sat on his emerald comforter, and Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably by the door, staring at their belongings. Maybe she was feeling nervous. Maybe she was regretting their decision. Maybe she wished she were going alone. Before, he would have said something witty to calm her, but when he searched his mind there was nothing. So he sighed and flopped onto his back. He vaguely patted the space beside him and waited. Her feet shuffled across the floor, and she curled up next to him, laying her head on his chest. At the contact, a small pulse of warmth flashed within him, the memory of an old desire. He gently draped an arm around her, and the two of them drifted into oblivion.