Coping Mechanisms

28. Draco

Twelve days.

It had been twelve days since he'd almost kissed Hermione Granger. Twelve days of wishing he had, and twelve nights of being glad he hadn't. Her words still haunted him; they hung over his head like the stars outside his window, each a shining, unmistakable reminder.

"It's just like you to run away."

She'd been right, of course. She was always right. But he couldn't stand to watch her lose anything else, not at his hands.

The day they'd spent together had been wonderful, one of the best he'd had in years. But Weasley's anger had been a crippling reminder of who he was... what he was. And it was nothing good.

Never had been.

So he'd walked away. Turned and hadn't looked back. Even as her words sliced him to ribbons, even as each step weighed heavy as stone.

Even as he wished to pick up where they'd left off.

Draco knew kissing her would be the end for him. It would fit something into place, something that wasn't his, something he didn't deserve. A torturous kind of salvation, like a mirage in the desert, like thunder without rain.

He couldn't endure that. Not after everything else.

It was a miserable sort of existence, pretending like Hermione Granger didn't also exist. Like she didn't carry some crucial piece of him with her. Like she didn't take all color from the room as she left.

But Draco Malfoy was no stranger to misery, so he did what he always had.

He carried on.

---------------------------------------------

"Happy Friday, kiddos!" Horace belted, thumbs hooked under his suspenders. "Put those finishing touches up on your potions! I expect to see six perfect Amortentias!" The professor leaned back as he laughed, causing his already prominent gut to extend even further.

Blaise scoffed snidely to Draco's left.

"Pompous, old prick."

Any other year, Draco might have laughed. But he didn't so much as bat an eye as the boy beside him carried on. He simply checked their cauldron, stirring away the film that had developed on their potions' surface. The disruption caused its scent to strengthen, and Draco fought the urge to bury his nose into his arm.

"And no one get any funny ideas," Slughorn chuckled again to himself, gesturing broadly as he walked past each table. "As tempting as it may smell, and as flawlessly proficient as I am with its antidote, Amortentia has some nasty side effects." He wiped a bead of sweat from his reddened forehead. "And they are near instantaneous."

"How bad can this silly thing be?" Blaise mumbled.

"Ah, quite dangerous, my boy," Horace answered, suddenly serious. Blaise stiffened, most likely unaware that he'd spoken loud enough for the professor to hear.

"Amortentia doesn't create actual love, of course. That's impossible. But it does cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. For that reason, it is probably the most dangerous potion in this room." Slughorn reached Theo and Hermione's table, and Draco unwillingly looked over his shoulder. The professor leaned above their cauldron, wafting its fragrance toward his nose with his hand. He took a great, big inhale and smiled.

"Swiss chocolates and red wine," Slughorn sighed. "Parfait." He nodded at the students before him, then drew a tiny, yellow vial from the pocket of his trousers.

"Don't lose that, my boy," Horace said, promptly passing it off to Theo. His face echoed Draco's confusion, staring simply at the glass in his palm.

"What is this...?" Theo started, but the sentence hadn't fully left his mouth before Slughorn had drawn their spoon to his tongue.

Silence enveloped the dungeon as the Amortentia took hold.

Horace went eerily still, his skin visibly pale and sickly. He began humming to himself, his gaze focused on a distant speck in the ceiling. The magic in the room shifted to something unhinged and unstable, and utterly terrifying. And it all exuded from their professor, who hadn't moved an inch.

Theo stood up, his chair screeching against the floor. One hand flew out to his side, hovering in front of Hermione, instinctively protecting her. Eyes locked on Slughorn, her face was calm, unfazed, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Professor?" Theo pressed cautiously. The man before him merely continued humming, his portly body beginning to sway.

"Professor!" he tried again, louder this time. This caught Slughorn's attention, and his head slowly dipped down to study Theo as if he'd never seen him before.

"Sunlight," Horace whispered, like it answered everything. "The purest sunlight."

"What the bloody hell is he on about?" Blaise cursed.

"Give him the vial, Theo," Hermione said calmly, her voice like air to a drowning man. "While you still can."

"Right," Theo nodded warily, eyes still locked on Slughorn. He uncorked the vial in steady fingers, and quickly raised it to the professor's nose, yellow dust rising immediately from its contents. Horace choked on his breath, doubling over, one hand slamming onto the desk to keep him upright. The rooms' magic immediately quelled to a small kindling, as Slughorn nearly hacked out a lung. An invisible weight lifted from Draco's shoulders, the pressure far less staggering. Even Granger seemed more at ease.

He hated to imagine even a minute more of that, of the person their professor would become.

Horace cleared his throat, straightening back to his full height as he surveyed the room. All the students watched him with caution, and he laughed straight from his giant belly.

"Now, you see!" he bellowed, his demeanor a complete 180 from a few seconds before. "Not so glamorous, is it?" Slughorn wiped the leftover powder from his nose and turned back towards Theo. "Imagine if either of you had laced your essence in there," he continued, motioning towards Granger as well. "Its effects would be even harder to combat."

"Why would anyone make this?" Blaise questioned, disbelieving.

"Ah," Slughorn sighed, placing a hand atop Draco's desk. "People do stupid things," he smiled, "when they're in love."

Draco swallowed, eyes locked on the iridescent smoke curling from their cauldron. The smell still beckoned him as it had earlier, husky motes of leather reminding him of the Slytherin common room. Vanilla stood at the forefront though, reminding him of something else.

"And this is supposed to smell like our deepest desires, yes?" Blaise asked, voice barely audible even to Draco. The blonde boy simply nodded, distinctly able to identify the scents present, but not the feelings that went along with them.

"I think we butchered ours."

Draco's brow twitched as he turned towards his partner. "What do you mean? What do you smell?"

"Nothing," Blaise admitted, his sharp eyes meeting Draco's. "And it feels... peaceful?" Blaise chuckled bitterly. "How does that work?"

Draco paused, struck by the unexpected scrap of honesty Blaise didn't normally offer. "Maybe it means you desire nothing," he shrugged. "Or maybe your Amortentia is as enigmatic as you are."

Blaise scoffed, clearly finding the whole conversation tiresome.

"It's all a bunch of bullshit anyways." Blaise leaned back in his seat, hands diving into his pockets as he stared straight ahead. "As if any of us would know peace."

Draco's gaze fell to his hands, his burned palm now a mere memory. Sometimes, he missed the bandages, the proof of what had transpired in Granger's kitchenette. They'd been a solid weight, a reminder of the healing she offered. His hand now felt too exposed, too empty, like peace had unraveled right from his grasp. Draco had held it and let it go. And he was unsure which was worse.

A life never knowing peace, of staying oblivious.

Or having a taste and leaving it behind. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I know this chapter is shorter than most, but I needed the little bit of filler. I can't wait to show you everything coming next.