PRECEDENT : Draco Malfoy II

61

About thrice a week for the next two weeks, I wake up with him on his side of the bed. A few times he comes in the night when I don't expect it, and so every night when I go to sleep I stay on just my side. There is forever space for him in my life. I don't know that it's my choice anyway.

Only twice is his stay interrupted. The trip alarm he created for his room gives him a few seconds to return, during which time he apparates into his ensuite bathroom. He wasn't expecting it today. It was the only time he had planned his arrival, one of the only times he had come over without seeming exhausted or even drained. He pulled away from me and the sound of his apparition was a quiet snap.

While he's gone, I return to the way life is without him. Reading. Thinking. A pop interrupts me. Draco returns, no more worse for where, only a minute after he left.

I put the newspaper down on the coffee table. It is nice to have more things here, even if they are all transfigured. A stack of books I completed this week is there too. Already, I'm beginning to get quite the collection. Every time he comes, he brings at least three new books. Most of them are muggle books too.

"Was it Mopsy again?" I ask.

Draco shakes his head, rubbing the back of his head, "Mum this time. She wanted to remind me her and father were stepping out for the evening. She thinks that because she can't remember anything with all the chaos in the manor, I must not be remembering anything either."

"Still got guests?" I ask.

His face goes pale. We don't talk about what he does when he isn't here or what happens at Malfoy Manor. He never explicitly mentioned guests, but I know there were some points last year where You-Know-Who gave him company, as did his aunt who had escaped from Azkaban. It's only natural if at least she was still on the grounds.

Draco swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Who's at your home?"

"No one," he says, quickly.

I stand up, my hands on my hips. I glower at him, "don't lie to me. Not again."

"You don't want to know."

"You don't get to make decisions like that for me," I move closer to him. "And, I don't want to fight with you about it."

Draco scratches the back of his head and winces. He pulls away his hand. There is blood under his fingernails. For a second, I don't think the blood is his. The impulse is stupid, irrational. His clothes are pristine, and he seems calmer than ever. At least, he seems surprised by it, and when he wipes his fingernails the blood is wet, fresh.

His other hand reaches up to the back of his head. It comes back with the smallest smear of blood. He's scratched his scalp until he bled.

I swear my ears are ringing.

I take Draco's hand, little blood and all, and I hold it. A space for him forever. The feel of his warm hand in mine is at least soothing.

"Please," I whisper.

Draco doesn't answer. He lets go of my hand, grabbing my waist instead. When he pulls me in, I feel his cheek resting on the side of my hair. I close my eyes, breathing in the smell of him. It's still him. Not the coppery smell of blood. He hasn't come as hurt as he did the first night when he surprised me. His mind feels destroyed though, nearly as vacant as it does when he's occluding.

"The night before I sent you the final letter, we had a dinner party," he mumbles the words and I desperately cling to them.

I grab at his back. I don't exhale until he does. When he breathes in, I do the same, and I wait.