Day: 115
The next time he visits, he places a silver ring down on the table. Her head snaps up, watching him stand frozen on the other side. His silver eyes darken as she examines the words carved into the metal, "Why is your birthday on this ring?"
His features are cold, and his mouth twitches, but all he replies with is, "Blood Magic, keep it and don't take it off."
Before she can nod, he's gone.
Day: 116
When he returns the next day, she searches his eyes. They always speak the truth. His eyes tell the story. So when the silver meets her brown ones, she suddenly worries from the weary look ridden in the corners, the tinge of sadness that has dilated his pupils, and the look of misery that overshines against his structured features, "Your mother is sick- There's a curse in the dark mark, and it's killing her. But I promise you I will research to fix this. I will fix this. There is a cure."
The vast information Draco's sprung onto her immediately makes her eyes water. The woman who raised her has yet to tell her about a poison secreting deep inside her veins.
One that will end many lives.
"Did Voldermort do this because he wants his followers to remain faithful even after his death?"
His eyes flicker, and he turns his head to the side, gulping. Esme shakes her head, scoffing loudly. "She wasn't involved with him. She never wanted to be a death eater, And this is what she gets. We came here for her work, for her job. And everywhere we go, he follows her like a reminder."
And then she pauses because it suddenly clicked. The moving. The immediate request to jump halfway across the world for a new job. A place for answers.
"No." She shakes her head because the realization of the truth hits her like a ton of bricks.
"She's been researching a way to find a cure. To stop the poison, right?"
He's still gazing away, looking out towards the beach, "Yes."
"This entire time I should have known. What begins with the creator ends with the follower."
Esme mind immediately goes into planning mode. It's a consent rush of thoughts that organize into a bookshelf. Each book has a subject, a topic that remains in her mind, and once she fills that book it shuts, implanting it into a deep part of her mind. Luckily because of being a natural occlumens, it's become easier to conquer and divide between what needs to be done and the list that continues to grow.
"I can see that mind of yours planning, and just stop."
"She's my mother. Do you honestly expect me to give up? That's some ridiculous notion you have there. Aren't you Slytherins supposed to be ambitious," she shoots at him, the anger boiling inside of her from the lack of sympathy he has.
"Then quit your stupid Ravenclaw notion of always being curious for new answers. There is none. You will not be involved in this."
"I don't remember asking for your opinion."
Draco stands taller, his posture fixtures into a marble statue. His jaw ticks and she can see him clenching it in frustration from her line of sight. He grits his teeth together sharply, "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. The silver sweeps deep inside her, a lurking worry evident in his tone, "Stay out of this."
He turns to leave, but she opens her mouth, "And what about you huh? You're a death eater as well. You have the same curse, is that correct?"
"Clever as always." And she can picture the smirk on his face.
"You're going to die."
"Perhaps."
A sharp pain twists in her heart, her stomach plummets to the ground. "You can't leave me. I don't want to be alone again."
He turns back towards her, and his lips are pressed in a hard line. The tension in the ground has created a barrier between the two of them, and she feels sudden anger at his unkindness of allowing death to come.
"Why don't you care that you're going to die? Why does my mother not care."
He sighs, and when his eyes flicker back up to Esme's she notices the bruises under his eyes.
"We are exhausted. I don't have anything left of me to give to anyone. Not my son, not your mother. Not you. He's destroyed who I am. I've just come to terms with the inevitable."
Esme stands up from the table, tears of anger falling from her cheeks. "How can you say that." She pauses, thinking, "Bring me all her notes and research. I want to see it all."
Reluctantly he nods, "Esme." his mouth opens to say more, but he clamps it shut. Her eyes fall down to the table, and when she looks back up, Draco's silently apparated away.
Not only will she lose her mother, but now a friend. A companion that has guided her and taught her that being alone is not a surreal figure. It can be shared between the two. He was carrying the load.
A single tear falls from her eyes, and she decides this is the end. Now her willingness to shut down her emotions is like quicksand tugging her deeper, and tethering around.
I am not allowed to cry. I am not allowed to cry. I am not allowed to cry.
She repeats it like a broken disk until her eyes are clear, the brown set to stone representing the thickness of the ice.
Everyone dies. Everyone leaves. Get used to it. This is life. It keeps moving forward.
She feels fresh tears rush to the forefront of her eyelids, gathering at the sides. She stares up at the ceiling blinking quickly.
I am not allowed to cry. I am not allowed to cry. I am not allowed to cry.
Somehow she can't get rid of his words, "I don't have anything left of me to give. Not you."
Her heart hurts inside her chest, the rest of her body heavy with pain.
Leave your emotions. This is life. It keeps moving forward, whether you like it or not.
Day: 120
Draco's brought all the notes, and she can tell he's debating on staying or leaving. His feet are planted to the ground, but she knows his hands are behind his back, opening and closing in fists. Esme's doing the same thing, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palm.
Speak to me.
She wants to scream at him but instead gives him a small smile that almost hurts. His eyes flash, and he looks away. His body grows rigid. And from his posture, Draco is on the verge of apparating out of the library. Away from the desk, she's sitting at.
"Sit down."
He listens, pulling out the chair from across the side of the desk. It screeches against the floorboards, almost breaking the silence between the two. Esme wants to yell and shout.
He's not trying. He's completely giving up.
"I'm not giving up. I will find something," she says
He looks up at her, meeting her eyes, "It will exhaust you. You aren't meant to know half the things."
"I'm not going to give up."
He looks calm, his expression moulding a look of acceptance, with a tinge of hope. Draco nods at her.
Day: 132
Esme's gone through page after page, the information piling on her like an endless book of knowledge. She's studied deep within Voldermort's time at Hogwarts and his interest in the dark arts. She can't deny the intelligence of the curse he's put together. Her mind switches into questions, and her hand scrambles for a list of papers to write them down.
What's worked, and what has not.
Calling for her owl, she sends it off to Draco, hoping one of her ideas will work. She wonders if she can create a potion that would stop it from spreading to the rest of the body. Dark magic extracts a price from the creator. But it seems that the followers are the one's paying the price. It's a revelation of sin.
Day 133:
When Draco shows the next day with the list in his hand, her heart plummets. Nothing has worked. None of her ideas. Not one. The sinking feeling of no answer creeps up inside her. No. She pushes it away, determined to stay focused and find the answer. It will be fixed. He remains silent. Limit words have been passed between the two. Her eyes threatened to form with tears, but she also pushes them aside.
Focus. There is only limited time left.
Day: 155
Three weeks after, Esme spends day after day gathering potion notes and dark magic research from her mother and Draco. Only when she begins opening the book on the second wizarding war, her fascination is fixated solely on the destruction of Horcruxes. Basilisk Venom. It could be a counter ingredient combined with phoenix tears- Along with the draught of death. Her heart speeds up, feeling a charge of excitement rush over her. The idea hasn't been used by anyone yet. Looking over her Mother's notes, Esme suddenly surprised by her ignorance of the Horcruxes and the items used to destroy them. She calls for Draco.
Draco's intrigued by the idea, but Esme can't seem to tear her eyes away from the purplish bruises surrounding his eyes and jaw from exhaustion. He blinks several times to keep his eyes focused on her detailed notes.
His face last lost the moon-white tone, now a deep pale shade, He looks ghostly, and his platinum hair contrasts against the rest of him. Even the silver in his eyes has lost fire- they are dull. The poison is draining his magic.
"It's draining your magic, isn't it?"
He smirks at her, "You catch on so fast."
Her blood runs cold.
"I have the basilisk venom stored inside the Manor. You should be thankful I have my own phoenix as well."
"Rich wanker," she murmurs when he disappears.
When he returns with the ingredients in two vials, Esme's already lined up with the other one's needed for the draught of death.
"Come here," she orders.
He stands from his side of the desk, walking over to her. She turns towards the glass cupboard organised with tons of potions in different sized flasks and vials. Pulling out a vial of dreamless sleep, she slips it into her pocket. Esme stands up, grasping his hand, and she almost gasps at the texture. His fingers are clammy and cold. He always used to be warm.
Holding his hand, she pulls him to the couch in the living area, lifting her wand and transforming it into a bed.
"Sleep."
He tries to pull away, but she tightens her grasp on his hand. Her tiny fingers are almost losing hold of his slender ones, "I have work to finish," he protests.
"It can wait."
She pulls out the vial of dreamless sleep.
He eyes it cautiously but huffs, walking towards the bed, "Wake me up in thirty minutes," and then swallows the whole thing down. Esme rolls her eyes, walking back to her study to create the potion. Halfway to the door, his voice catches her attention, tired but still present.
"Esme." His tone is a warning.
She wakes him up after six hours, and he gives her hell.
"You know, you could be a healer," he whispers before apparating away.
She almost misses the looks of thankfulness hidden behind his eyes and utter surprise from her success in potion brewing. She smiles.
Day: 180
Esme's baking scones in the kitchen when he appears. He looks healthier than before, and it's a reminder her potion has worked. His nose sniffs the air, his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as he tries to place together the secret ingredients of her breakfast.
"You're making pumpkin scones," he states like it's the most obvious thing in the world. But his mouth twitches in disgust.
She huffs, nodding as her eyes lighting up in excitement, "You catch on so fast," she says, repeating his words from days ago.
Draco rolls his eyes, plopping down at the table.
Today he's wearing black trousers, along with a navy blue jumper. Esme's never seen him wear much colour. His cheeks glow with a natural pink blush, as his silver eyes shine as the sun reflects its light between him and the outside.
"Done gawking?"
Blush rises in her cheeks, and she turns, chucking an oven mitt in his direction. He moves out of the way, and the sound of his laughter fills her ears. For a split second, she catches a glimpse of his boyish side.
"You do it the muggle way?"
She brings a plate to the table, sitting across from him, as she opens up her book, "It's relaxing."
His attention is already captured by a healing novel.
After a couple of seconds, Her fingers reach out towards the plate as her eyes remain focused on the first page of the book she's opened up. Keeping her focus on the words, she bumps her hand with Draco, who also has his nose buried in his book. They both look up at the same time, and he flashes her a grin before taking the scone, adding butter for her before sliding it across the table, "How kind of you."
"I am kind; thanks for noticing."
"I thought you didn't like pumpkin scones."
"I don't."
"Why are you still eating them?" she questions curiously- as he does the same to his scone before taking a small bite.
He wipes the corners of his mouth with the napkin, and she fits the urge to roll her eyes again, "Because you like them."
Day: 195
Esme knows that problems shape people. It changes them- altering their minds to see the most horrifying or joyful perception of life. She's drained and exhausted as each day seemingly passes the same way. She watches over the past wondering what might have happened if her mother had the chances to succeed. But has been left with endless sacrifice's. And everyone seems to be telling her she has nothing to give up.
It's a lie, an illusion.
She's sacrificed her happiness.
The war shapes people. It's not an understanding that must be told- it simply is a perception of the truth. The truth in which no one endures to believe. To grow is to change.
Because the person that stood on the battlefield is no longer the man who sits at her kitchen table everyday. There were reparations made along the way- but she's come to realize there are regrets. Regret is painted in the eyes of Draco Malfoy. Dashes and strokes of lies that have built up the persona's of each individual he has so-called "family."
Day: 200
His smile was a mirror of her pain. Shattered glass hiding the cracks of ecstasy and horrifying endurance. A magnificent work of art in the form of Draco Malfoy.