Captured

Chapter Twelve: Astray

A/N: I'm so sorry this is being posted so late at night! The Halloween festivities ended up taking much more time than I anticipated. I appreciate your understanding and patience and hope you enjoy!

~.~.~

Fucking Granger.

Fuck her and her bloody mudblood self.

Draco stumbled along the empty corridor to the first empty room, closing the door behind him and muttering a quick "Colloportus" and "Muffliato." Only once he was sure no one would be able to hear even a roar of sound from this room did he allow himself to fall to his knees on the bare, wooden floorboards. The harsh thud that reverberated through his legs as he hit the ground was a welcome distraction to the flood of emotions that was raging within his mind like an angry sea. His breathing was fast and heavy and if he had slightly less control, it might have quickly morphed into hyperventilation. He loosened the black tie at his throat so it hung limp and mussed before unbuttoning the black suit jacket so it wasn't straining uncomfortably. Bespoke suits weren't typically created with undignified breakdowns in mind.

No one was supposed to see that memory. He had done such a good job of keeping it locked away until tonight. Until now. It had been stupid of him to become complacent, to allow even the smallest part of himself to become unguarded. Realizing that she had never been practiced in either occlumency or legilimency had made him arrogant. Cocky. What had happened wasn't unheard of, even with some of the most practiced legilimens. But it was rare. And required a sheer force of will and talent that the average witch or wizard didn't have. Of course, bloody Granger wasn't average. He had forgotten for one second too long that there was a reason so many of their bloody professors referred to her as the "brightest witch of their year."

Even alone, he couldn't help but roll his eyes and sneer at the thought. A pathetic, disgusting muggleborn at the top of their class.

But here, in the silent safety of this dark room, some part of him knew that he didn't think that with as much conviction as he previously had. He didn't hold the same level of disgust for muggles and muggleborns since that night on the Astronomy Tower. Even if no part of him other than the logical, subconscious could admit it, that part of him knew some of his insults didn't hold the weight they previously had. No, the majority of that disgust was now reserved for the wretched worms that crawled on their bellies and devoured anyone that could give them a leg up for their Dark Lord.

Draco let out a desperate sound of frustration, dropping his head into his tense hands. He was.... Confused. And he despised being confused. He was not accustomed to confusion. He was always a step ahead. He made connections and understood people and situations more quickly than most. And yet... she didn't fit any of that. A confusing contradiction to everything she was supposed to be. She made no sense.

Mudbloods were supposed to be weak, pathetic excuses for witches and wizards. Gryffindors were supposed to be stubborn, reckless, brainless twats, and though some of the arseholes she surrounded herself with could definitely fit the mold, she... Didn't.

The memories from the past few weeks begged for attention like a ravenous basilisk. He hadn't seemed to be able to get them out of his head. They were like pieces to a puzzle he couldn't quite complete and he couldn't rest until each jagged edge was in its proper place. The slytherin boy, Theo. Why did she help them? He wouldn't have. Weasley wouldn't have. Potter? Unlikely.

And that memory of her in the tiny muggle bathroom before obliviating her parents... He had shoved that aside so very quickly after he left her. It was too... personal. He could have almost sworn that she hadn't been the only one looking into a mirror that night, gripping the cool ceramic edges of a sink while breaking down. No. They had been too similar in that moment.