𝒪𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓋𝒾𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 | 𝒟.𝑀.

33 | ﴾ Help From France ﴿

I woke up tangled in my plush bed with my head pounding from the night before. I rolled over and stared up at the canopy in confusion, drifting my arm across the empty space next to me. I sat up fully when I realized Draco was missing.

The wind off of the ocean was blowing the bright curtains frantically into the room and the smell of late spring on the coast of France provided an aromatic awakening. I brushed hair out of my eyes to gain a better perspective of his figure huddled on a chair on my balcony. He had a grey blanket wrapped entirely around himself; only his platinum hair could be seen blowing from the gusts of the sea.

I pushed out of the bed and stretched, lazily wandering to him before realizing something was terribly wrong. He had his eyes shut harshly and was shaking. I walked around him and put my hand on his shoulder and watched as he jumped in shock.

"Draco, are you alright?" I carefully probed, unsure of what could possibly be amiss. He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes, his face appeared incredibly tired and sad.

"I couldn't sleep. The absinthe gave me nightmares," he offered a weak explanation and I rubbed his shoulder to comfort him, turning to look out over the ocean where his eyes were squinting. The sun was glittering off of the waves and people were wandering along the dirt pathway on the opposite side of the gated seawall that separated the private property from the edge of the barrier rocks. It was hot and humid already despite being so early in the morning.

He shifted in the chair, pulling the blanket tighter around his body. "I had these...endless nightmares about the dark mark on my arm. Like I was some kind of...demon, for having it. I tried to scratch it off last night, I don't even know what I was thinking." He held out his arm and pulled back the sleeve of his hoodie, and my hand shot to my mouth in shock. His arm was bloodied, scratch marks lined his pale skin up and down in harried lines. The dark mark shone straight through the lacerations as though no effort could alter it's pristine appearance. He squinted up at me as though he were a child caught in the act of having destroyed something valuable.

"Draco, dis is 'orrible. I'm sorry," I muttered, trying not to show how disturbing it was through my reaction. I wondered how I hadn't woken up to his cries despite being so drunk.

He looked back over the bay before us, "It's given me some perspective. Madeleine - you must promise me you will never allow the dark lord to coerce you into taking this mark, unless you are absolutely threatened."

I grimaced, "I 'ave no desire to do dat. You don' need to worry about dat."

I left him in my room for the day after he mentioned he wanted to try and sleep now that the drugs had left his system. I wandered around the Villa taking in the memories of my younger years as though for the first time. I was on the third floor, lingering on beautiful portraits of Victorian relatives in white wigs when my mother spotted me and approached rapidly.

"Mon fille!" She cried in a loud voice that was arguably not an indoor volume, "'ow are you feeling? I 'eard from Éduin dat dere was an incident last night. Walk wit' me." She looped her arm through mine and guided me down the nearby stairs. She was in a pale yellow dress that made her green eyes pop in the light, and her familiar smell of vanilla wafted between us as we walked.

My nerves built as she guided me through the villa and out into the Renaissance gardens. I suddenly felt extremely aware of how bizarre and unexplainable the display I had put on the previous night was. Everyone had easily been terrified and I'd acted entirely psychotic - god only knew what Éduin had reported to my parents.

Charlot had a gentle smile on her face as we walked out onto the gravel pathway from the promenade deck. The many geometrically aligned pathways were framed by blossoming plants waving in the humid day, and perfectly shorn boxwoods in exact rectangles. The air was aromatic with floral scents and the sweet stench of the ocean spraying onto the rocks beyond the seawall. Hundreds of seagulls were barking in horrific, high pitched squeals as they plucked at various strewn items on the rocks.