The Accidental Malfoy

20 | Breaking Down the Walls

Disclaimer: I do not own this, nor am I profiting off the display of this story in any way.

Draco said in the dark gloom of his study. The thick velvet curtains were pulled tightly across the windows. He wasn't sure where his mother was, but he would be surprised if she wasn't holed up in her rooms. She rarely came out any more, but when she did, he found the grief that ravaged her face hard to cope with.

He took another sip from the tumbler of Firewhiskey he held in his hand. He remembered a time when he had thought his life would be easier if his father was dead, when he'd been faced with the reality of the task he had been given by the Dark Lord. Back then, he had wished that he'd been born into an easier family, one where his father hadn't been a Death Eater who'd screwed up. Now, the guilt of those thoughts chased through his mind, eating their way into his soul.

As if looking to cause maximum pain, Draco's thoughts turned towards Hermione and he mentally shied away. No matter how befuddled his mind was, he was aware of just how much he had messed that up. He had not seen or heard from her since their confrontation in the street four days ago. He knew he needed to mend the bridges, to go and apologise, on his knees if necessary, but the thought of those angry brown eyes burning into his had him running away instead of dealing with the problem.

Some things never change, he thought bitterly. He had always been good at running away.

The whoosh of the Floo Network failed to rouse him from his bitter reminiscing. However, the harsh sunlight that intruded, making his eyes squint against its glare, did.

"What the —" He moaned as the next curtain was whipped back, the brass rings rattling from the force of the pull.

"This is an intervention," came the firm tone of Pansy Parkinson.

He looked up and saw his bossy best friend bearing down on him, Millicent not far behind.

"Oh, go away!" he mumbled, not in the mood for his overpowering best friend.

A forceful finger found its way under his chin, pushing his head up from where it had flopped against his chest. "This is ridiculous, Draco. You need to pull yourself together."

"Easy for you to say. You still have a dad."

"Yes, but I lost my mum, if you remember, when I was twelve. So, save the self-pity for someone else."

A flush of shame coloured his cheeks. How had he forgotten that? He had held out endless tissues to a weeping Pansy in the Slytherin common room.

The tumbler of Firewhiskey was forcibly removed from his hand and replaced with a tall glass of clear liquid. He highly doubted it was a gin and tonic and a small sip confirmed it was water. He screwed his mouth up in distaste.

"Give me my drink back!" It was meant as an order, but instead of commanding, his voice came out thin and reedy.

Pathetic, he thought. This is what I have been reduced to: a whining, pitiful man-child.

"No," Millicent said robustly. "You are sobering up, and then you are getting back out in the real world and supporting your mother as you promised your father you would."

Millie didn't mention Hermione or the baby, but Draco was positive he could hear the criticism of his neglect of them in her tone, too.