He's just feeling a little down.
That's what Blaise or Theo said when someone asked about Draco. When they wanted to know why he hadn't left their room for three days now and when they wondered why he skipped meals again.
You know how it is.
Five words followed by a sigh and everyone understood. They all knew how it was. Most of them had probably gone through a similar episode at least once. When the Slytherins heard that sentence, they mostly nodded with a sympathetic look on their face and backed off. It effectively stopped them from asking any more questions. Well, most of them. Pansy and the Greengrass sisters were more than just worried about their friend and kept pressing on about what happened. However, to their frustration, Theo and Blaise didn't budge.
After being discharged from the hospital, Draco went to his room. He changed into a pair of pajamas, laid down – and that was it. He slept a lot during the three days but didn't seem to find any rest. He was being followed by wild dreams which caused him to wake up multiple times, sweaty and with a beating heart that almost jumped out of his chest. Theo got his sleeping medicine after the first day and it helped a little – at least during the night.
During the day, the nightmares came alive in a much more horrid way. He could barely recall the events in the bathroom, it was all a blur. Yet, he remembered the way he felt. Fear and pain and shame, all mixed together. You were there, holding him, turning pale at the sight of his mark and looking at it with disgust. There were tears rolling down your cheeks and he was left wondering if he had lost you.
You, the only good thing in his life at this moment.
Draco didn't look at his wound once during the three days. He wore a bandage. It itched occasionally, reminding him of what he had tried to do. It didn't work. Nothing would ever work. The mark would stay there until the day he died and probably even in his afterlife. It would be a constant reminder of his failure. Hate filled him when he thought of it.
"You have a visitor," Theo said on the first night.
Draco sat up, thinking for some stupid reason that it was you. His heart started beating faster and he looked at Theo with panic in his eyes. "I can't see her like this."
Theo frowned and needed a second to understand. "Oh no," he shook his head and smiled sadly. "It's Astoria. She brought you dinner."
Disappointment caused Draco to look down, his cheeks burning red. Of course. There was no reason you would want to see him. Not after you realized how weak he truly was.
Astoria walked inside, a bright smile on her face. She cheerfully started chattering and it irritated Draco. Later, Theo admitted to him that he instructed Astoria to not ask him anything about what happened. She tried to spark a conservation but Draco stayed quiet, his eyes fixated on the ceiling, only nodding occasionally. He didn't listen to her and truly, he didn't care what she had to say. She wasn't the one he wanted to see.
The next day, Astoria talked a little less, sensing that Draco wouldn't reply. She was right. By lunch on the second day, she simply put the plate on his nightstand and left the room again. Draco thanked Merlin for it.
"You have to get out of bed, man," Blaise announced on the morning of the third day, just before he left for class.
"I'm not feeling great," Draco answered and yawned.
"I know, Dray," his friend sighed. "But this isn't a solution. Have you changed your clothes once in the past days?"
"Or showered?", Theo added as he came out of the bathroom.
He could answer both questions with a definite 'no'. Draco crinkled his nose when he realized this. Even during the war, when he was at his lowest, he was always groomed and well-dressed. It's important, his mother used to say. It keeps you from losing touch with the world around you.
"Go take a shower and then go to Madame Pomfrey to let her check out your wound," Blaise decided when he didn't get an answer from Draco. "And talk to Y/N."
"No."
"Yes, Draco. You have to talk to her."
"You don't understand."
Blaise groaned. "I don't understand a lot of things, apparently."
"True," Draco mumbled, not caring if his friend had heard him.
"Right," Blaise scoffed. "Talk to her. The longer you wait, the harder it'll be."
Then the door fell shut and Draco was alone again.
***
After much tossing and turning, followed by a lot of cursing – Draco admitted that Blaise was right. Sulking in bed and hiding from his problems wasn't a permanent solution and this wasn't the way a Malfoy should behave. He could only imagine what his mother would say to if she saw him like that.
His mother ... she had written to him two times in the past days. The school had notified her, telling her about the incident. He hadn't read the letters yet. They remained unopened on the small table and just looking at them filled him with guilt and sorrow. She worried about him, he was sure of that. She had always worried about him and it had only gotten worse in the last three years. There was nothing more important in Narzissas life than Dracos well-being. He knew that and it made him feel even more remorseful. Nonetheless, he decided that writing to her would be the first step to get out there.
After a long shower, a shave and a change of clothes, Draco hated Blaise a little less for getting him out of bed. He sat down on the table and started writing. It was a long letter, detailing not what he did to himself but rather how his friends and classmates took care of him. How attentive the teachers and Madame Pomfrey were – and that he would be fine. Eventually.
***
"It looks very good," Madame Pomfrey stated after she had examined the almost completely healed up wound. Draco flinched every time she touched the mark, keeping his eyes locked on the black fabric of his pants.
"Rub this on your skin twice a day," she continued and handed him a jar filled with a red ointment before she turned around to throw away the used bandage. Draco took it and stuffed it in his bag. When he was about to roll down his sleeve, he suddenly hesitated. He bit his lip, unsure whether to ask the healer the burning question on his mind.
"Madame Pomfrey?"
"Yes, dear," she sat down behind her table.
Draco stared at the mark on his arm before raising his head to meet her gaze. Who else could he ask, after all? "Is there anything ... anything I can do about this?"
Madame Pomfrey looked at the tattoo for a moment. Draco resisted the urge to cover it up. "You are not the first one to ask," she finally said in a soft undertone. "All over the country, healers are being contacted with the same issue," she sighed and folded her hands. "I'm afraid, however, there's nothing we can do."
Draco had expected that answer. He looked down to the ground, pressing his lips together tightly.
"I'm sorry," Madame Pomfrey sympathized. "It's black magic, so deep and evil ... finding an antidote is almost impossible."
He knew that as well. He even knew it back when they burned the mark onto his skin. "Right," Draco cleared his throat and began to roll down his sleeve. "Well, then ..."
"But," the healer interrupted him. "We won't stop trying. And I promise you, if I ever hear of something I'll let you know."
Draco nodded sadly. "Thank you, Madame Pomfrey."
She leaned back against the chair, a serious expression on her face. "How are you then?"
Draco shrugged. She knew how he was. She saw his arm, didn't she?
Another sigh from her side. Draco wondered if she was as uncomfortable as he was. "Mr. Malfoy", she suddenly continued with a firm voice that made him look her in the eyes. "We have come to realize that a lot of students were left with deep wounds after the war."
He snorted. "Well, that took you a while."
Madame Pomfrey shot him a sharp look but continued calmly: "Wounds that cannot be treated with traditional medicine because they are not ... physical."
She paused briefly, giving him time to understand. Oh. "You mean we're going crazy?", he blurted out.
"No", she shook her head. "You're not going crazy. I do, however, believe that you are in need of psychological help."
Draco scoffed.
"Do you disagree?"
Did he? He wasn't certain. Psychological help – he wasn't even sure what that truly meant. He only ever heard about it when his family made fun about muggles, laughing at their weakness. "You sound like one of those muggle healers."
Madame Pomfrey seemed to have expected that answer. "It's not a common practice in our world", she agreed. "But I feel it would be worth a try for you to meet with a professional to ... talk."
Draco thought for a bit. "I can talk to you", he finally said.
A smile played around the corners of her mouth. "I had to admit to myself that this is not my area of expertise," she replied. "However, we have found someone already and can arrange a session for tomorrow."
Draco blinked. That was fast.
"Mr. Malfoy, I believe it would help you get better and prevent ... prevent such incidents or worse."
"Or worse?", Draco frowned, not understanding what she meant. What happened had been a desperate attempt but he didn't intentionally try to harm himself. He simply wanted to get rid of the tattoo. Was it dumb? Yes. Did he try to ... Draco swallowed. "Do you think I tried to kill myself?"
"No, but ..."
"I don't want to die," he said loudly but with a steady voice. It was the truth and Draco needed her to understand.
She did. "I'm glad to hear that," Madame Pomfrey finally said.
"Good," he nodded and let out a deep breath.
"What do you want then?"
The question took him by surprise. It was a good one. He didn't have an answer to it yet. All he wanted was the confusion to be gone and the pain to stop. At least a little.
Madame Pomfrey saw his inner conflict by the way his eyes darted across the room. She smiled at him. "I think she can help you figure it out."
***
The next big task on his agenda for today was finding you. It was something that turned out to be much harder than he expected. You weren't in the Great Hall or the library or the Quidditch field. There weren't many options left and he treaded the idea of going up to your common room and wait for someone to ask there.
Instead, Draco wandered to the Black Lake, hoping to see you among the students who were involved in snowball fights or walked along the waterside. No luck. Draco groaned. So common room it was, after all. Just when he turned around to go back up to the castle, he spotted someone else though. A head of brown locks and a laugh that belonged to no one else but Granger. Next to her, the boyfriend of the year – Weasel.
Draco hesitated. Should he ...? No. No, he shouldn't. But then again, asking your friends was the easiest way to find out where you were. So he tried to overcome his pride and before he could think of someone else, he shouted: "Granger!"
Grangers head snapped in his direction, eyes widening when she realized who called her.
"Wait a second," he shouted and jogged the short distance between them to catch up.
"Look who got raised from the dead," the weasel mocked and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What the fuck do you want, Malfoy?!"
Draco didn't even look at him. Weasley wasn't worth it. Not today. "Have you seen Y/N?", he directed his question at Granger.
"She's probably hiding from you," the red-haired Gryffindor snickered. "I know, I would."
"Ronald, please," Granger shot him a warning glance. Then she looked back at Draco. "No, I haven't. She just said she wanted to be alone for a bit."
Alone for a bit. Draco knew right away where you were.
***
Coming back to his dorm in the evening, Draco felt a lot better compared to this morning. He was relieved that talking to you went the way it did. He hadn't lost you and that was all that counted for him in this moment.
Draco had stayed with you for a few more hours. You didn't talk much and got back to reading your book. He had leaned against the couch with his eyes closed, listening to the cackling of fire and the turning of pages. After a while, you stretched out your legs, putting them on his lap. Draco had smiled. Nothing much had changed. You were there. He'd be okay.
When he got undressed and looked at his mark, he could still feel the way you had traced your fingers over his skin. A shiver ran down his spine. You had been so gentle and unafraid. How could you be like that?
For the first time since the Dark Lord burned the mark onto his skin, Draco raised his hand and ... touched it. His heart rate was speeding up at the simple gesture that used to be so dangerous. Carefully, he let his fingers rest on the black color and then began to do the same thing you did; he traced over the outlines of it with his thumb. Draco was surprised by how it felt like ... nothing. Like skin. It was just color underneath his skin, he realized. It might have been put there with dark magic but in the end it was nothing more than black color. His breath trembled when he breathed out.
He would be okay. Someday, maybe not today, but someday – he would be okay. It was a promise Draco made to himself.
***
The days before Christmas were spent with therapy sessions and classes. Draco wasn't sure what to think of the therapist. Sure, she was nice and asked him a lot of questions but he still felt awkward. Growing up, talking about feelings was something that was frowned upon by his father. Even though his mother tried to encourage Draco at times to talk to her more, he kept the things that bothered him to himself. It was easier this way. So sitting in front of a stranger, telling her his deepest darkest fears was something he had yet to get used to.
Draco wasn't the only one who talked to her. In a matter of days, she was fully booked and sat together with students from early in the morning to late in the evening. Even though the profession was met with suspicion, people still wanted to try it out. Draco wondered how long she would stay in the school.
Whenever he had a little free time, he met up with you, going on long walks in the snow or studying together in the library. The tension between the two of you had resolved a little and you were able to talk to him like before. He understood that he had put you in an overwhelming situation and the feelings of shame still hadn't left yet, but you were there. You wanted to be around him. He couldn't put in words how happy it made him.
The two of you walked through the streets of Hogsmeade today, looking at the Christmas decorations in the windows after stopping in the Three Broomsticks for a mug of butterbeer. It was the week before Christmas Eve. Draco had agreed to celebrate the holidays with your family. You would introduce him as your boyfriend and even though he knew, that you weren't actually a couple – they didn't. They assumed they'd meet their little daughter's boyfriend for the first time and they damn well knew about his past. For good reason, Draco was nervous.
"We aren't celebrating Christmas at home this year," you said in this moment.
Draco frowned. "Why?"
"My mother decided it'd be a good idea to renovate the house in December", you replied as if that explained everything.
"And?", Draco asked.
You looked at him quickly. "She's not done yet."
"Why not? That's a doable task when you use magic."
"Ha," you snorted and shook your head. "You don't know my mother. She's a perfectionist."
Fantastic, Draco thought. A perfectionist would probably to be the first one to approve of their daughter dating someone like him. "So where are we celebrating then?"
"In a hotel in London, I think", you gave a half shrug. When you saw Draco's expression change, you quickly added: "You're invited, so no need to ask for the costs."
Draco didn't look at you. He kept his gaze on the street in front of him, wishing that you didn't notice the flush creeping across his cheeks. He swallowed and then cleared his throat. "I can't accept that. It's too much."
"Don't worry," you said softly. "Please, Draco. They invited you. It's fine."
Draco would rather spend the holidays with his grandparents than accepting alms from your family. Before he could decline though, you continued: "Just buy them a bottle of wine and they'll be happy."
He gritted his teeth. His ego screamed at him to back away but then again – it was just as impolite to bail one weekend before. His mother would scold him until New Year's Eve. "Alright," he finally said. "You have to tell me what wine they drink so I can buy the right one."
You glanced at Draco from the side, smirking. "Are you nervous?"
He frowned. "What, why?"
"You want to make a good impression, don't you?" The smirk changed into a grin.
"Obviously," he scoffed. "I don't want to spend three days with people who hate me. I get enough of that at school."
You chuckled. "Right."
He couldn't do anything against the small smile that appeared on his face. He looked at you and enjoyed feeling completely and utterly content for a few moments. You were beautiful the way you smiled, wrapped into your Gryffindor scarf and with sparkling eyes and lips that trembled from the cold wind. For a second, he wondered how stunning you'd look in green.
"Do you ever think about the kiss?"
The words tumbled over his tongue before he could think about them. He scolded himself and bit on his cheek. Why would you? It's not like ... it's not like it meant anything. It happened when he wasn't himself and the things he said ... Well, Draco would be lying if he claimed to not think about his words every night. They had been true – all of them. However, he was relieved you never mentioned them again. And the kiss? Yes, he thought about it too. Wondering if it had happened under different circumstances, how you would have reacted. Would you have pushed him away as well? Or would it have been like at the beginning of this school year when you met in the storage room? Not that it would matter. Draco didn't (want to) understand why he even kept imagining it.
"No."
The answer hit him as if he had sprinted against a brick well. He let out a long breath he didn't know he was holding in. Oh. Obviously.
"It happened in a moment of ... you weren't thinking clearly." You looked at him; a hint of uncertainty in your eyes. "Do you?"
"No." He shook his head slowly. What did he expect? And why did it hurt him?
You cleared your throat, burying your hands deeper in the pockets of your coat. "Okay. Great."
"Great."
There was an awkward pause between the two of you as you walked down the streets. The air around you had changed abruptly and it was irritating. You kept looking at Draco, chewing in your lip.
"Let's go to Honeydukes," you finally broke the silence. "I promised my father to bring him his favorite candy."