𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

29 | ﴾ Play Pretend ﴿

"Neville Longbottom's relatives," Narcissa explained with dread. Both of us stared at Draco intently and nervously. 

I could see tears in his eyes from our dispute as he defensively glanced between us. He looked like a mess; his hair was disheveled, his eyes were governed by dark patches below them, and he had drank a considerable volume of wine while bickering with me over Theo and Ascelin. "What? Why are they here?" he peered at our attention to him in confusion.

"They've just left," Narcissa sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead with her long pale fingers. "They are convinced that we possibly know the whereabouts of his bod--... of the boy. He hasn't been seen since the middle of the war." 

"Ah I see. Could he possibly be in some ramshackle prison in Denmark?" he asked with a glint of controversy in his watery gaze. "Because if he is, then surely he's quite starved. I clearly have not been there to entertain him as a hostage."

My mouth fell open so widely that he couldn't possibly assume I was uneducated about Hesselø. He cocked his head to the side at my evident shock, "He wouldn't by chance have a penchant for Christmas sweaters?"

I in fact knew that Neville Longbottom had been murdered, darned in a filthy Christmas sweater. Draco had shot him down without hesitation in an overgrown and abandoned farmer's field, near the coast of England where the Order had come from Fort Maunsell to hide in a rotting cottage. 

It was entirely possible that no one would ever find his remains there, if they hadn't been moved to the dungeons by Draco the moment after he left me trapped in his room. I had never forgotten the way Neville's brown eyes had locked onto my face as I had fumbled there, paralyzed in horror with Draco rapidly approaching. 

Narcissa gasped, "Have you experienced some miraculous recovery from your Obliviation?"

My heart lunged at the possibility. I could feel my face softening while I analyzed his reaction, filled with hope. His mouth twitched at the corner into a sad, fluttering smile, "No."

"Well, I certainly cannot begin to comprehend your instantaneous awareness of Hesselø," Narcissa prodded with fierce confrontation. "Regardless, the prison was emptied and freed entirely. I have my suspicions, but there is unfortunately no way to confirm where he may be found."

My mind was reeling. It was very probable that the other Slytherin boys had filled Draco in on the military island, given that they had been paid to run it. But it was not in any circumstance whatsoever, likely for Draco to know what Neville had been wearing that day unless he'd regained his memories or been informed by the Order members. 

Seamus, he works with Seamus, I realized in sudden defeat. Perhaps Finnigan had an exceptional memory for something as trivial as people's clothing choices.

He watched me squirm with squinty eyes. My gaze dropped to the watch on his bony wrist that he did not have the combination for, and he followed mine down there with curious regard. 

He was already acting emotional, and I had zero interest in sticking around for him to figure out that there was a sea of corpses in the dungeons. I stood and flattened my dress, "I'm not hungry, I apologize. Please excuse me." I left the room without another word, and proceeded to my bedroom at lightning speed. 

۞۞۞۞۞

The argument with Draco had been enraging, and I had gone on to ward off my room from unwarranted disapparition and lock my door. He had tried knocking multiple times a day for the rest of the weekend, and slipping notes below it that he wanted to talk, but I was determined to have my freedom. I missed him, naturally, but I knew him better than he knew me, and he was relentlessly stubborn. He would fight tooth and nail to get me to agree to his terms once again if I provided him with even a fraction of vulnerability. What we needed was some space until he comprehended the type of support that I needed from him.