About thrice a week for the next two weeks, I wake up with him on his side of the bed. A few times he comes in the night when I don't expect it, and so every night when I go to sleep I stay on just my side. There is forever space for him in my life. I don't know that it's my choice anyway.

Only twice is his stay interrupted. The trip alarm he created for his room gives him a few seconds to return, during which time he apparates into his ensuite bathroom. He wasn't expecting it today. It was the only time he had planned his arrival, one of the only times he had come over without seeming exhausted or even drained. He pulled away from me and the sound of his apparition was a quiet snap.

While he's gone, I return to the way life is without him. Reading. Thinking. A pop interrupts me. Draco returns, no more worse for where, only a minute after he left.

I put the newspaper down on the coffee table. It is nice to have more things here, even if they are all transfigured. A stack of books I completed this week is there too. Already, I'm beginning to get quite the collection. Every time he comes, he brings at least three new books. Most of them are muggle books too.

"Was it Mopsy again?" I ask.

Draco shakes his head, rubbing the back of his head, "Mum this time. She wanted to remind me her and father were stepping out for the evening. She thinks that because she can't remember anything with all the chaos in the manor, I must not be remembering anything either."

"Still got guests?" I ask.

His face goes pale. We don't talk about what he does when he isn't here or what happens at Malfoy Manor. He never explicitly mentioned guests, but I know there were some points last year where You-Know-Who gave him company, as did his aunt who had escaped from Azkaban. It's only natural if at least she was still on the grounds.

Draco swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Who's at your home?"

"No one," he says, quickly.

I stand up, my hands on my hips. I glower at him, "don't lie to me. Not again."

"You don't want to know."

"You don't get to make decisions like that for me," I move closer to him. "And, I don't want to fight with you about it."

Draco scratches the back of his head and winces. He pulls away his hand. There is blood under his fingernails. For a second, I don't think the blood is his. The impulse is stupid, irrational. His clothes are pristine, and he seems calmer than ever. At least, he seems surprised by it, and when he wipes his fingernails the blood is wet, fresh.

His other hand reaches up to the back of his head. It comes back with the smallest smear of blood. He's scratched his scalp until he bled.

I swear my ears are ringing.

I take Draco's hand, little blood and all, and I hold it. A space for him forever. The feel of his warm hand in mine is at least soothing.

"Please," I whisper.

Draco doesn't answer. He lets go of my hand, grabbing my waist instead. When he pulls me in, I feel his cheek resting on the side of my hair. I close my eyes, breathing in the smell of him. It's still him. Not the coppery smell of blood. He hasn't come as hurt as he did the first night when he surprised me. His mind feels destroyed though, nearly as vacant as it does when he's occluding.

"The night before I sent you the final letter, we had a dinner party," he mumbles the words and I desperately cling to them.

I grab at his back. I don't exhale until he does. When he breathes in, I do the same, and I wait.

"We had dinner with him at our table," Draco says. "All the Death Eaters. He took my father's wand that night, before we had begun eating. The whole time, a witch was hanging above our heads. Then, he killed her, and his pet snake ate her. And we were supposed to just go on eating. Like the muggle studies teacher wasn't just killed in front of me."

Professor Burbage. I cling to him tighter. As much as I know occlumency, I do not know how he does it. How he can sit there while a woman is murdered without giving away what he feels. It is not a statement of judgement. It is the same feeling I got the summer after third year, after my brother's girlfriend attacked me, and my parents got me a new plant. The days were a whirlwind, and I forgot to water it one week, and when I remembered and ran to look at the plant, it was just as green as ever. I marvelled at it.

How could it live like that? How didn't it just die.

"And we just had to keep eating," Draco repeats himself again.

It's easier to think about Draco than Professor Burbage. The professor who's classes I never took but who let me use her classroom. The one who held a New Year's Eve party for muggle-born students during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Who Justin Finch-Fletchley loved so dearly. Professor Burbage who had a curated room of muggle art, and who had muggle family too, and even still barely understood muggles.

I don't know how long we stay like this. Eventually, before either of us pulls away, I lead him back to my bedroom. He sits down on his side of the bed. I lean down to rest my forehead against him.

"I didn't think I could tell you," he whispers. "I thought you'd hate me more."

It's easier to think about Draco in that room, watching a woman being murdered, surrounded by older men who don't mind a bit. Sitting at a table, watching the most powerful dark wizard who ever exists take his father's wand, and Draco who is powerless to stop it. I'd rather be scared for him than think he is complicit in this.

I close my eyes, breathing in, "I hate to say it, but I need to know what you are doing in the war."

Draco pulls back. My hands trail after him as he steps away. He lies down on the bed. It's hard to sleep on. Somehow, it gives him more comfort than me.

"Draco..."

"I haven't killed anyone," Draco says. "I don't even think I've hurt anyone that badly. All of the members of the Order of the Phoenix outmatch me greatly. Since I was instrumental in killing Dumbledore, the choke has been off. I'm not in charge of any solo missions, and I always accompany people on them. I've used the Cruciatus Curse though, if that matters."

I swallow. I can't look up at him. My eyes find the spot on his leg where he was recently injured, "I thought you said you didn't hurt anyone that badly."

"I meant muggles, muggle-borns, and Order members," Draco sighs. His voice is too natural. I knew if I looked up, I'd see him occluding. "Well, that's mostly true. I was there when they tortured Emmeline Vance, but I didn't use the Cruciatus Curse on her. Other than Karkaroff, I did Silas Selwyn since he went off with a guest at that Weasley wedding. Avery screwed up a diplomatic mission in Ireland, and I was on him too with my aunt. Mostly, the Dark Lord wants me to recruit younger students and help run Hogwarts more efficiently come September."

It's better than it could be. I'd rather he wasn't running around torturing people. Now, I feel like it's me burning myself up to keep him alive. Sane, out there. And he's going to leave me in September to stay at Hogwarts. Even though he killed the previous headmaster. He isn't even worried about going back. It's better to have him there, I try to convince myself. It's better he's at a school than out where there are muggles and other people. It's a school, and it's difficult to siege anyway. He will be safe, and others will be safe from him.

"I love you, Marty," he says.

Our eyes meet and he isn't occluding again.

"It's just hard to digest," I tell him. "I love you too."

"This isn't my choice."

"I know," I tell him. I wish I could say we will figure something out, but I don't really imagine we will.

He nods. Draco stands up across from me. He puts a hand on my cheek and caresses the cheekbone. I lean into his touch. How foolish we both are, I think. To have ever thought any of this was going to work.

"The more on the Dark Lord approves of me, the more I can keep you safe," he tells me. "And come visit. So, I do what he asks of me."

I close my eyes, if just for a second. Then, there isn't the same room that I've been stuck in forever. There's just him, and I'm content to be just stuck with him. Nothing else. The ministry for magic can tear itself apart. Harry Potter can defeat the Dark Lord or he can't. As long as there is Draco and I.

"What about in September?" I ask.

He shrugs, "I will be off again in December. You'll be taken care of until then. I'll come see you as soon as I can."

I look from him to the walls around me. Maybe I will start oil paints, even if I can't imagine it. This whole place is absolutely nightmarish. His hand rubs my cheek again, bring me back to him. Without someone around, it feels like the world is only made up on myself. As if I am cramped in this house, squeezed between all my thoughts. When he's here, I'm reminded that my thoughts are mine and not everyone elses, that my existence is private, or at least some part of it is. Only when I'm giving myself do someone else do I remember that I own some part of me, and that it is mine to give away. And I'd give all of it to him.

"What will you even do at Hogwarts?" I furrow my brow and bit back my grin. "You know, without me around. It'll be so boring."

"Certainly, no time-related disasters," he laughs.

I scrunch my nose at him. He leans down to kiss it. My cheeks flush, and it's silly, because this far into all of this and some how he still manages to make me feel like it's always the first time.

Even though it's late, we stay up. The pair of us chat about his friends, and it's easier this time to listen. Theo is trying his best to become a Death Eater like his father, but Draco is still sure he's all talk and no action. Pansy, who often hangs around Theo, has been frustrated with him lately.

"He's a bit obsessed," Draco points out.

I roll my eyes, "Theodore Nott, doing his best to put on a show. It's almost impossible to imagine."

"Pansy would like your sarcasm," Draco smiles at me.

"What a shame, in another life we could be best friends," I shake my head. "Maybe even lovers."

He genuinely laughs at that.

In this place, there isn't much to do. There aren't any games, any liquor (though each passing day I think more and more about asking for some from the witch who brings me things since I am of age and all). He didn't bring his wireless so we cannot listen to music, which is probably for the best in case a news station came on. It isn't until close to three in the morning that we finally head to bed.

He sleeps beside me, and I lie in bed awake again. I know he's been waking up from my nightmares although he hasn't said anything. Neither of us are very good at pretending to sleep. It's nice, to see his chest rise and fall. There are other people in the world. I sometimes see them on walks early in the morning, although he doesn't know that.

When it's quite in the dead middle of the night, I get up and walk over to the kitchen. I pour myself a glass of water. Something creaks down the hall and I sigh. I pull my hair out of my face, pulling it up. It's not a frequent habit of mine, but I've been tossing and turning, and Draco is a mess enough without seeing me like this. I dab my eyes with water, listening as he approaches.

I turn off the tap, "sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

When I look back at him, it's not him. It's a man, probably close to the age of my brothers, with a thick beard, wicked grin, and a dark black cloak.

"He's in the bedroom then?"

~~~~~

I'm actually sick at this. The next chapter has a massive content warning. It will be written at the top, just so you know. And you can scroll to the bottom to see a bit of a summary (minus many details) and why I chose to include it in the narrative of this story. I just want everyone to be aware and safe.