𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐨

𝐗𝐋𝐕𝐈

It was a week later when we had to turn in a sample of our potion to Professor Slughorn for our N.E.W.Ts.

Hermione made some attempts to speak with me—to which I complied—but Ron still gave me hard eyes from across the table at meal times.

Ginny though, was far more upset than anyone. I couldn't tell anymore if Ron was mad because I liked boys, I liked Draco Malfoy, or because he thinks that I used Ginny, as Draco and Pansy had done with each other.

Dean and Seamus were more on the down-low than ever before. The only times I ever saw them, they were apart. Although, sometimes, I would often not be able to find either one of them in the same time period, hoping and assuming that they were off somewhere together.

The week followed with many late night study sessions with Draco or Hermione, proceeding days filled with long written and practical exams.

Transfiguration went smoothly, from what I could tell. I'd never really struggled with that class in the past, so I wasn't worried.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was the easiest by far, only taking me an hour to finish both the written and practical part. The professor made a face each time I did something correctly with no effort, though I did catch a streak of pride fall over her eyes for a spit second before she was able to conceal it.

The only remaining N.E.W.T left was Astronomy, which took place at midnight. Draco helped me plenty throughout the year, but, truth be told, I was rubbish.  

Draco waited up late with me that night as I crammed in some revision before midnight came around, quizzing me and correcting me.

It surprised me how calm he managed to stay throughout the whole ordeal, as it took me almost five minutes before I was able to answer each question—correctly or not.

Twelve o'clock came far too quickly, and I reluctantly made my way to the Astronomy Tower.

The practical exam took no more than thirty minutes, naming stars along with their diameters, far off galaxies and planets. 

To be honest, I don't believe it went as horribly as I anticipated, most definitely not as well as Transfiguration or Defence, but not bad.

I fell asleep in Draco's bed almost as soon as I laid down, not even giving him the chance to ask me how it went, not even changing out of my robes.

I fell into a dreamless sleep with the warmth of Draco's body against me, and a kiss on my forehead.

***

"You should really Owl your mother," I told Draco the next morning, having still not arose from his bed.

"Why should I?" he said annoyed, but not at me, "It's not as if she'll respond anyways."

"How would you know if you don't try?"

"I tried over Christmas," he ran steady hands through his tangles, "Nothing."

I looked to my lap, thinking. It was almost time for us to return home, and at the moment, Draco had no idea where to go.

We hadn't known whether or not the news of our relationship had reached outside of Hogwarts, and there was no true way to be sure until we were already home.

Draco had said that he'd been expecting an angry howler ever since Goyle outed us, but so far, he'd gotten nothing. Although, if they did know, he wasn't sure whether a howler or silence was worse.

"Do you think they'll make you go back with them?" I asked.

"Almost certainly," he groaned, "Unless they've disowned me, that is."

"Wouldn't they tell you?"

"If they happened to be decent people, perhaps. But selling your son to the devil doesn't seem very decent in my opinion."

I was glad that Draco had finally come to the realization after so many years that his parents weren't the great heroic role models that he once thought they were. I was even more glad that he had veered from turning out like them—his father in particular.

He told me stories once late in the night about how his mother used to sing him to sleep as a child, or how his father took him for walks aground Diagon Ally before he was old enough for Hogwarts.

But when Voldemort resurfaced, that had all vanished. His home was no longer the safe haven that all homes should be.

It was then, that he told me about his experience getting the dark mark.

"Anyone who says that they didn't vomit afterwards is a fucking liar," he told me. "It felt like having someone stick your arm in a fireplace while simultaneously stabbing it with red hot knives."

He never showed it to me, and I never asked him to. He did say that it had faded significantly, but he could still vividly recall the burn every time he looked at it.

So, obviously, Draco had no desire to return to Malfoy Manor.

"You should come stay with me," I said after a moment.

His head jerked to meet mine, looking as if I'd suggested he jump into the Black Lake in mid January.

"No way in hell am I staying with the Weasels," he said quickly, "I don't care if you're there, I'd rather sleep on a bench."

"No, no. I don't mean the Burrow. I have a house."

"You have a house?" he raised an impressive eyebrow.

"Sirius's house. Where he grew up. It was inherited to me after he..."

"Oh," was all that Draco said.

"I would've stayed there this past summer, but Mrs Weasley didn't want me to be alone after the war. But I don't really want to see any of them right now... and I doubt they would want to see me."

Draco gave me a sympathetic look, and snaked his arm around my shoulder-blade.

"They'll come around eventually," he said, trying to be reassuring. I greatly appreciated that, considering his deep disdain for the Weasleys, but I really didn't see how that was possible at the moment. Ron was so angry, and Ginny was simply laughable. I didn't see how their parents couldn't side with them.

"At least write to them once," I restated about his parents, "Tell them you're not coming home. You don't have to tell them where. It's not like they can really look for you either, being under house-arrest."

Draco sighed, but reluctantly pulled out a roll of parchment from under his bed.

I took that time to change clothes from yesterday, thinking that it would be a good idea to give Draco some privacy.

I placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, as he had given me the night before, and left him to his quill and parchment.