"You try to tell yourself it doesn't matter, like it really doesn't matter. You want to be free from the thing, the person, the event, the memory. But the feeling is still there, always there, waiting for you, harassing you to acknowledge it, to live with it, to swallow it whole. And then, one day, it just seems to be gone, and you feel a tinge — just the slightest tinge — of happiness again. And you think you're free at last, but then, out of the hidden depths, there it comes again, swelling up at first and then dragging you down down down, this time deeper, oh so much deeper than before, and all the way down it's screaming over and over: it matters, it matters, it matters."

—Jesmyn Ward

Draco absentmindedly ran his fingers through his son's hair, the weight of the boy's head on his shoulder a steady comfort. Their room was silent except for his son's soft snores. Since Scorpius had gone down for his afternoon nap, Draco had lost himself in his thoughts of the mission the other night. Though they had made it out alive and saved the prisoners thanks to the elves, Draco couldn't seem to ignore the way the event had left his occlumency walls shaken. It had been too much — seeing Granger beaten and bloodied, writhing in pain as she screamed when hit by the cruciatus. It had rattled something inside of him. It was the same scream that he heard echoing in the manor's drawing room even after it had been scrubbed and polished. And it was the same helplessness he felt — doing nothing as he watched her tortured. But something about it was different this time. The second her body arched off the ground, all he felt was white-hot rage. Despite the suppression of his magic by the manacles, he could feel it fighting in his veins.

Now, in the aftermath, it terrified him. Seeing her hurt opened a chasm he was not ready to explore. He knew that once it had cracked, there was no turning back. The doors of his mind shook as he attempted to close and lock every door. Unbidden, a door, one made of dark old wood, cracked.

"Draco dear, what is it?" the young boy's mother asked.

Draco lifted his head from where he was staring down at the path to meet two pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly — one winter blue and the other a twin silver to his own.

"It's a sparrow," he replied. "It must have fallen from its nest."

The boy's gaze returned to the small creature on the ground before him. It was tiny, just the size of his palm. Its brown feathers were puffed in every direction, flustered from its fall. The sparrow squeaked and hobbled, one of its wings bent in the wrong direction.

"Leave it," his father commanded in a stern voice. Laced in his father's words was clear distaste. "Are you listening, Draco?"

Draco blinked and swallowed, shifting at becoming the object of his father's attention. It was a fine summer day, the sun high in the sky and the manor gardens blooming with his mother's roses and carnations. Yet under his father's gaze, he had never felt so cold.

"Yes, father," he said stoically, saying the perfectly practiced words with the right amount of deference, the right amount of respect, and the right amount of dignity. He was a Malfoy too after all.

His father nodded sharply then turned to continue their walk around the gardens with his mother on his arm. Draco made to follow after them but stopped when the bird tumbled in his path and blinked up at him with wide brown eyes.

He hesitated.

"Draco." The voice was clipped this time, a warning he felt quite clearly even when his father's back was still turned.

"Coming, father," he replied as he brisk walked towards his parents, making sure not to crush the little bird in his back pocket.

~~~

"You're strange," Draco murmured, frowning at the little sparrow that refused to eat the seeds he had snuck from the kitchen. He had managed to treat the bird's wing and put it in a cast by following the instructions from an old book on ornithology in the library. It had been difficult finding the right twig for the tiny sparrow's wing, but he had managed, successfully putting the crying bird's bone back in place and securing it even when his hands were being pecked at.

"You should eat, you know." The little bird cocked its head from where it was perched around a bundle of table cloth on his desk looking like a little queen. According to his research on sparrows, the one before him was a girl because of her brown coat with grey undertones and her pale throat. Draco lowered his head so he was eye level with the sparrow. He swore she narrowed his eyes at him.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he sighed. "I had to set your wing back in place. See, it says here," he pulled out the book and flipped to the page he had referenced, "if I didn't set it back, your bones would not regrow properly. Then for sure you would not be able to fly."

The brown sparrow continued to look at him suspiciously, engaging Draco in a staring contest, which Draco refused to back down from. Finally, she averted her gaze and took a seed in her mouth.

"Aha!" Draco grinned triumphantly. "Mother says our bodies are magic too. It can heal itself if we take proper care of it. So you got to eat now. But you have to be quiet. Father will be unhappy if he found you."

The bird continued to peck at the seeds while Draco watched, observing the different shades and stripes of its feathers that got lighter until it was completely white around its belly. It was an odd creature, not like the hounds they had. The hounds were father's pets, disciplined and obedient. No, Draco frowned, the bird wouldn't be his pet. He didn't want to be its master. The bird was so young, had not even had the chance to fly and explore the world. Draco made a promise then, he promised he would take care of the bird, nourish it until it was ready to fly far far away, to be free, somewhere safe and full of bird song. The thought made him smile.

~~~

"Father." Draco lowered his head as he entered the drawing room, focusing his gaze on the polished marble floor until he met the dragon leather hide leather boots of his father who was seated by the fire.

"Ah, Draco," his father began. "How was your lesson with Severus?"

Draco finally looked up, keeping his expression neutral as he silently searched his father's features. Despite his father's calm voice, his question unsettled him. His father never inquired about his lessons after having been satisfied that Draco had demonstrated enough intellect and aptitude at a young age. Draco straightened.

"We've been studying mayflies and how to extract their wings without killing them. Keeping them alive keeps the magical potency of the wings intact." Draco waited, but his father continued watching him behind his hand, the Malfoy signet ring glinting in the grey afternoon light. "Professor Snape says I'm a natural at potions, not clumsy like his first-years. He is certain I'll do well once I get to Hogwarts."

"Good," his father finally responded after a beat. "I'm glad that you are reaping the advantages of these privileges. Your mother and I do our best to give you the best, you know that right, boy?"

"Yes, father."

"And yet," his father lifted his hand as if searching for the words, "you have disobeyed me."

Draco kept his voice steady. Calm. He schooled his features into blankness in that way he had learned so long ago, even as his heart beat rapidly in his ribcage. "I'm unsure of what you mean, father."

"Do not lie to me," his father snarled, standing to full height. Draco stepped back. Before Draco could utter a word, his father snapped his fingers and in his palm, crushed by his large pale hand, was the sparrow. The sparrow Draco had tended to in secret for weeks. The little sparrow who he had finally been able to gain trust from, who could now stretch her wings, who was so close to flying. Who sat on his shoulder while he read by the fire, gazing over the words as he spoke them out loud. Who sang him little songs when it rained and he had been sent to his room by his father.

"Did I or did I not tell you to leave this filthy creature behind?" Draco inhaled deeply, trying to hide his fear. If there was anything his father hated more, it was weakness.

"Yes, father."

"Then why," he began, the sparrow squeaking in his grasp as his father's fist tightened around her further. Draco's jaw clenched, his fingers digging into his palms behind his back to stop them from shaking. "— why was this thing found in your room? I punished the elf responsible for cleaning your room because it tried to hide the bird's existence when I had come in looking for a book I thought you'd taken again. The elf finally told me you've been keeping this thing for weeks!"

"I'm sorry, father." Draco's lips quivered. He tried not to look at the sparrow, tried not to look at his friend.

There was a snap, followed by a soft cry.

Draco blinked, his eyes stinging. He kept his gaze away from the crying bird in his father's hand.

"You understand this will not go unpunished, yes?"

"Of course, father."

"Good." Draco's father brushed past him, snapping his fingers again. "Felix."

"Yes, master?" The elf popped into the room and bowed.

"Fetch the hounds."

Draco whipped around. It was a mistake. His father had been watching him, clearly seeing the devastation in his face. His father sneered.

"It's worse than I thought," he clicked his tongue as Felix apparated back in with a pack of hounds, restraining them by their leashes. "You're attached to this bird. You care about it."

Draco remained silent, the sounds of the hounds growling and gnashing their teeth and the little bird's cries echoing around the drawing room. He couldn't do anything. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He was afraid, so afraid he was paralyzed. He could only stare at his father, tears streaming down his face, silently begging him to stop hurting the bird.

"To care for something, to be attached to it, is to surrender power to it. And in this fragile thing, so so breakable, you have surrendered yours."

"Father, please," Draco's voice cracked.

"This is a lesson, son, not just about your disobedience but about power." Draco watched as his father let go of his grasp, the brown sparrow falling in mid-air, flapping its wings, giving Draco a spark of hope that was quickly extinguished when the sparrow froze a couple of feet off the ground. Draco shut his eyes, sniffling through his tears.

"Watch," his father commanded. Draco heard his father's footsteps come closer just before he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Draco forced himself to open his eyes, watching the confused little bird looking at him as she struggled to free herself from the invisible force.

"Release them."

Draco's whimper was lost in the loud snap of bird wings crushed between canines. Brown, grey, and white feathers floated in a flurry as the hounds ripped the little bird's body apart. Draco watched, from the beginning until it's quick end, until the hounds were licking their bloodied lips beside their master, until all that was left on the blood-stained floor was a frail crumpled body, completely unrecognizable. Until all he could see was blood and feathers and broken wings. Until all he could hear was the cold cry of a dying song wringing in his ears.

~~~

Draco's eyes shot open, sharply pulling out of the memory. He immediately called on his occlumency magic, shutting the door that held the memory with bolts and locks until it stopped rattling and the cries died down. When he finally pulled away fully, he found himself shocked at the particular memory, shocked that it had resurfaced. But an ominous voice in the back of his head told him he shouldn't have been.

Draco shut his eyes again. There is a meadow with long grass bending in the breeze...and a manor with many doors. He cleared his mind, letting his thoughts and memories fade away and recede. He compartmentalized the chaos of emotions inside of him, locked it behind a wooden door, vines and flowers creeping around it until it was hidden. He let his magic calm the turbulent waves of his mind, icing them like a frozen surface over a lake. Vaguely, his emotions pounded beneath the surface, but he simply looked away as everything he felt was frozen and pulled into darkness.

***

"Again," he commanded harshly.

Hermione gritted her teeth but attempted the combination again. Her left fist swung forward followed by a feint then a kick towards Draco's midsection.

"Again," he demanded despite her perfect execution. They had been going over the same combination for the past hour. No matter how many times she got it right, he wasn't satisfied. He had been that way since that morning. Hermione assumed it was simply the stress and ignored it, but the way he was colder, harsher, and more distant during their sparring session made her realize that his ire was targeted at her.

"Seriously, Granger?" he snapped. "That left hook would have been anticipated with how slow you're going."

"What the fuck is your problem!" Hermione yelled, seething at his attitude.

"Excuse me?"

"I said: What. the. Fuck. Is. Your. Problem?" She met his glare defiantly, unfettered by the way his eyes flickered with anger.

"My problem is that you're not doing the combination right!" He stepped forward, towering over her with his jaw clenched. "You think that will work out there? It's not enough, Granger."

"Maybe when you figure out what the fuck your real problem is and stop taking it out on me I'll make some fucking progress!" she snarled. "Right now I refuse to be your punching bag. If I actually am the source of your problem, let me know right now. But if I'm just an outlet for your anger, I'm not going to tolerate it."

Hermione turned around and left him fuming in silence.

***

Hermione jolted awake at the feeling of hands on her person. She immediately grabbed her wand.

"Mini! Mini! Is daddy!" In the darkness, she made out the small form of Scorpius sobbing. Draco's nightmares must have returned, Hermione thought as she scooped up the child and murmured soothing words into his ear. She pulled him securely when he buried his wet face into the crook of her neck, grabbing her desperately as if she would let him go.

When they finally reached the room, true enough Draco was on the bed thrashing and breathing harshly. His brows were furrowed, a faint sheen of sweat illuminating his pale skin. With a flick of her wand she turned on the bedside lamp and put Scorpius down so as to keep him safe from his father's unconscious movements. Scorpius clung desperately to her leg as she concentrated on his father's writhing body.

"Malfoy! Wake up!" she called out, trying to keep his arms from thrashing. He kept fighting her hold, his head shaking from side to side. "It's just a dream! Wake up. Draco!"

"Astoria," he suddenly gasped.

Hermione froze. A thousand thoughts whirled in her mind along with an indescribable sickening in her stomach. She felt like she was intruding on something — something she was not supposed to be a part of. Here she was, standing before a man who whispered his dead wife's name in his sleep as their child clung to her leg. Her throat tightened painfully.

"Daddy! Pwease!

"Wh — what? Where am I — "

"Daddy!" Hermione was pulled from her thoughts upon seeing Draco sitting up and blinking in confusion. Scorpius crawled up onto the bed and buried his head in his father's neck. "You is having bad dreams again!" he sobbed.

Draco cursed inwardly, stroking his son's back. "I'm sorry. I'm alright, it's all going to be alright," he whispered.

When he looked up to face Hermione, he was met with the door clicking shut.

***

Moody's bulging blue eye whirled back and forth as if perfectly capable of seeing the tension between them. Even without the palpable tension between him and Granger, Draco knew he would never feel comfortable around the man who had turned him into a ferret. His scarred face, wiry hair, and nose that was missing a chunk of flesh never failed to make him feel unsettled. Nevertheless, Draco had to admit that although he was rough, he was a fair man with a sharp wit. He had treated everyone the same — even him — neither buttering anyone up nor treating them like filth. It was a stark contrast to the many pureblood male figures he grew up with.

"Before we go on to business," Moody said gruffly as both eyes landed on him, "Shacklebolt and I have officially called off your probation. Consider this your induction into the True Order."

Surprise flickered over Draco's features at the casual notice that he was free and officially a part of the Order. He glanced at Hermione, but her face remained blank.

"Shacklebolt and I have decided that since you and Granger work well together, you'll remain partners. She will no longer need to monitor you or update us on your behavior, unless you give her a reason to," Moody paused a beat, giving him a heavy look until he was satisfied with whatever he saw. "Most missions will require having a partner so expect to continue working with each other a lot, however there may be some special cases."

Draco simply nodded, glancing again at the witch. Since she had woken him up from his nightmare, she had been distant, not speaking to him unless she had to and always avoiding eye contact. At first he told himself he should be relieved and that this distance was what he wanted after all. But if there was anything her coldness, distance, and indifference did, it was make the very thing he kept locked away more difficult to keep out.

" — that being said," Moody continued before taking a swig from his flask, "since Miss Granger is privy to certain confidential information given her status in the Order, there will be some missions you will not be accompanying her in. Such missions include the one that we have for her today."

Hermione stepped forward, reaching out for the parchment Moody extended to her over his desk. She perused the file with a furrowed brow.

"Well, Malfoy, there is no ritual or tattoo ceremony of the sort," Moody said with an amused huff as he carelessly dropped another piece of parchment on the desk along with a quill. "To officially be inducted, just add your name to the line over here."

Draco moved towards the desk. Unconsciously, he stepped closer to her until his arm brushed hers. He blinked, shocked when she stiffened and pulled away from his touch. His heart stopped, a cold tremor going through his fingertips. He was pulled from his shock when Moody tapped on the parchment he had yet to sign with an intense look in his magical eye. Immediately, Draco masked his features and signed the parchment. Though he was able to repair layer after layer of his crumbling occlumency walls, he could not control the sudden frantic beat of his heart and the tightening in his chest.

***