BREATHE -draco malfoy

twenty nine.

Ana stared up at the beige cloth ceiling of the tent, prickly warmth spreading across her body almost instantly. Hermione had only lit the fire moments ago, but it was already doing wonders for Ana's soul and her body, which was cold and tired from their long day of tedious walking. She laid on her back, staring up at the ceiling and searching it, trying to unravel the mysteries fluttering around in her head. Her eyebrows furrowed together. The ceiling didn't have any answers for her.

It had been weeks since they had escaped the ministry, although the repercussions of the visit were still weighing heavily over the four friends. When Yaxley had flown up into the fireplace with them, Hermione was forced to change their direction of travel at the last second, no longer taking them back to Grimmauld Place but instead to the middle of nowhere, a little outcrop in the trees. Ron paid the price for this change of plans. He had gotten injured, his arm split open grotesquely. He was stabilized quickly by Hermione's hand, but Ron wasn't strong enough to travel, at least not by magic. The four of them couldn't very well just sit around and wait for a Horcrux to stumble into the forest, as the war was continuing on all around them, more and more names being read on the death toll every day. So they traveled on foot, walking and walking and walking until they couldn't walk anymore.

They had successfully obtained the real Horcrux from Umbridge, but they hadn't been able to destroy it. They had tried everything: setting it on fire, trying to make it explode, attempting to reduce it to ash, and hitting it over and over again with a variant of spells. But nothing ever happened, no matter how many spells they used from their arsenal. This was a blow to Ana's psyche, as she had been hopeful before, when they were on the trail of the Horcrux. But now that they had it, she didn't feel the hope anymore. She was sullen, extremely cranky, and, more than anything else, she longed for Draco's arms around her, his silver eyes trained on hers. It had been so long since she had seen him. She had gone months without him before, but never like this. She had never had to deal with it before, the knowledge that she may never see him again at all. When Draco had gone silent for two months that summer before her sixth year, Ana had always known that she would see him again, at least at school. But this time, she wasn't so sure. She felt disconnected from him, wherever on Earth he was, and it may have been a result of Draco's belief that Ana was forever gone that made her feel so distant from his love. With each day that passed, and with the more miles they hiked on foot, Ana was disappearing into herself, getting more and more melancholy. She knew that finding the Horcruxes would be no easy task, but she had hoped that they would be making some leeway by now. The ongoing quest and the constant eventfulness that she had felt in the weeks prior was ebbing away, leaving her bored and devastatingly impatient.

They traveled on, for days, weeks. Ana walked on through the brush and the woods of the English country side, listening intently to the radio that was constantly turned on in Ron's hands, hoping to hear some news, but at the same time, dreading what she might hear. Ana shared this feeling with her friends, as she noticed how everyone flinched whenever the radio announcer would start the list of names: those who were confirmed as dead. They never got any devastation out of the radio, thankfully. Ana did hear some updates about her uncle, who had taken over as headmaster of Hogwarts, but there was nothing else of interest to her. She still couldn't help but listen, though. When it was her turn to wear the demonic locket around her neck, she would listen to the radio in open fear, as the piece of jewelry always made her more anxious. It was the Dark Magic that laid inside it, trying to find something to latch onto. And it would latch onto her quickly, making her thoughts grow dark, every negative feeling amplified. After a while, Ana realized that it was best not to think about Draco at all while she was wearing it, as this always made her want to scream. Ana was ripping herself apart, as she didn't know what Draco was doing now, or how he was. She longed for just one kiss from him, one little conversation, and, in her most desperate moments, she longed only for one of his glances in her direction. Ana had authentic hopes that maybe he had moved on from her, forgotten about her. Maybe he was fine, no longer upset about her death. And maybe he had found another girl, a pure blood or a real Voldemort sympathizer, to spend his energy on. These thoughts made Ana sick to her stomach, but it was better than thinking about the alternative: that maybe Draco was sad, broken, and that she had hurt him beyond repair.