How do I get over you

How do I survive living half the life that I knew

How do I get over you

When you take away everything I held to be true

I wonder if you feel it too

Do you?

How Do I? by Lee Ryan

His grey eyes flew open as he bolted up from his bed. His breathing was shallow and he shivered as he felt the sweat trickling down his back. Quietly he edged out of bed, not wanting to stir his wife awake. Throwing a glance at her – just to make sure she was still asleep – he slipped out of their bedroom and plodded in defeat down the grand staircase towards the front porch of Malfoy Manor.

The night was chilly, but the stars were still scattered all over the night sky. He let his gaze rest on them, but his mind had drifted elsewhere. It was the third night he dreamt about her, about him, about them. And it was exactly three days since he set eyes on her again at the train station when he sent his son, Scorpius, off to Hogwarts.

Draco felt a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. Hermione Jane Granger (Weasley, he added reluctantly). She was still as beautiful as ever, even though she was now a mother of two red-haired kids. He wished they were platinum-haired instead.

Sixteen years ago, when he agreed to his mother's request to wed Astoria Greengrass, he thought the coming years would erase everything he felt. Sixteen years later and with a family, he realized it had never changed.

Still staring blindly at the sky, Draco sensed his mind rewinding to when it all started. The memories were still fresh on his mind, as if it was just yesterday…

OO OO OO OO

After the War, Hogwarts had reverted to its normalcy. Or as normal as it could get. Although most were relieved and terribly happy that the long-time horror of Voldermort was over, a cloud of depression still hung in the air. Students and teachers alike had lost people they cared for in the battle, or they themselves had lost to Death.

Perhaps it was the aftermath of the War, but for the first time in his life, he truly felt remorse. He had a hand in their deaths, directly or otherwise. When school resumed shortly after the War, Draco even wondered how the rest of the students would react to him. But surprisingly, they were either ignorant or opted to push it all out of their minds.

Draco carefully placed the last piece of clothing into his trunk. His silvery eyes wandered about in his room. This was going to be the last time he would ever find himself in his Slytherin room. He traced his slender fingers along the cool walls. He would miss this place.

He was about to start for the door when he paused. Reality dawned upon him suddenly. Where would he go? Of course, there was always the comfort and indefinite luxury awaiting him at the Manor. But would materialistic wealth compensate for the loneliness in the house? His father was deservedly locked up in Azkaban any day now for being found guilty of using the Imperius Curse – for a bloody good reason. Despite the appeals (and galleons), the Ministry refused to determine a date for him to be set free. His mother was safe, yes, just like the Order had promised. Draco only wished they had taken care of her mental health as well and not let her plunge into depression after his father was captured. The War had almost driven her to her wits' end – Lucius's capture made it worse.

Leaving his trunk in his room (the house-elves could always lug it to the front for him, couldn't they?) Draco somberly walked out of the Slytherin dungeon, carefully ignoring the eyes of his housemates. He was tired of everything – of being angry at himself for being dumb enough to join Voldermort once, of being stared at by the rest of the school for being a traitor, of crying secretly in the boys' bathroom. He stared out at the glistening blue lake. Where should he go?

XO XO XO XO

The Burrow was bustling with noise and fervour as the remaining members of the Order gathered. Mrs Weasley was scuttling in and out, replacing the food on the table as soon as the plates emptied. It did not help that Dedalus Diggle was rambling off something that she could not hear amidst the din. The Weasleys were arguing over who should get the last piece of chicken (George kept threatening to just steal it and put it to where his ear once was, much to Ginny's and Ron's disgust) With that sort of situation, it became increasingly difficult to even notice who were there and who were not.

Hermione sighed as she leaned back into the couch. She would have welcomed the cacophony anytime, but not when her headache was threatening to evolve into a migraine any second. Mrs Weasley had given her a potion to help with it ("It'll totally kill off that headache, dear!" she had quipped as she shoved a spoonful of the bitter potion into Hermione's mouth.) It had lessened it, but not totally killed it.

"George! That chicken is meant for eating, not as a makeshift ear!" she overheard Mrs Weasley finally seeing – and screaming at – what George was up to.

"I kept on telling him how disgusting it is, Mum," Ron interjected, a hopeful look on his face. "So can I have the chicken?"

"After George stuck it to his ear?" screeched Ginny. She turned to Harry who was sitting beside her, "Your friend wants to eat a chicken that was stuck to an ear?"

"Yeah, well, 'your friend' is your brother ain't he?" Ron bristled as he turned to her, his ears turning red. "It's okay, Gin. I'll stick it to my ear and let you eat it afterwards."

Hermione chuckled. She doubted that Ron would even want to give up that piece of chicken – as long as he had it, nobody else could have it unless it was the bones. Not even me, his girlfriend, she thought wryly, recounting the countless mealtimes at Hogwarts where he absolutely refused to share his food with her.

She got up to join the frenzy when she heard a knock on the door and froze.

XO XO XO XO

"Malfoy?"

The familiar voice startled him. Quickly, Draco wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before turning around. The Mudblood – Granger, he forcibly corrected himself – was standing there, looking at him with wide chocolate brown eyes. For a while, they just stood there gazing at each other, muted. Then she pushed the door a little wider.

"Come in," she invited him. Draco walked in without so much of a thank you.

What the hell is he here for? Free food? Hermione huffed silently. Don't be stupid, Mione. He has a never-ending stock of caviar back at the Manor. He wouldn't for hell come here for chicken.

"Who is it, Hermione?" Mrs Weasley's voice floated from the kitchen, getting louder as she hurried to the door. When she saw who it was, she stopped wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh. Draco. It's you."

As soon as his name was spoken, a hush settled in. Everyone simply stared at him, shocked. Draco averted his gaze away from them and looked down at the floor. He could not stop himself from sneering at the state of the floor. Once upon a time it would have been polished till you could see your reflection in it. The filth that now stuck itself to the floor threw it into an abysmal state.

Ron noticed his sneer and called out, "Yeah, the floor's gotten a bit dirty over time. But you would've expected it the moment you stepped foot on it."

"Shut it Weasel," Draco replied coldly, trying hard to make his voice sounded as normal as possible. "Or I'll have your face polishing that floor till it shone. But oh wait, won't that make the floor worse for wear, what's with your face kissing it all the way?"

The moment he said those words and saw Potty restraining his best friend from grabbing his wand and cursing him to oblivion, he regretted it. It was not a very nice way to convince people. But maybe Weasel's frumpy mother would not mind it.

"Is there any way that I can help you, Draco?" Mrs Weasley interrupted loudly, her face still flushed from what she had just heard.

Draco whirled. Suddenly he looked unsure, which, to everyone's surprise, was un-Malfoy-ish. But there he was, his gaze transfixed on the ground as he mumbled something inaudible. After the third prompt to speak louder, he said, "I was just wondering if I could stay here for a few days."

Everyone in the house almost choked on their food.

XO XO XO XO

Draco slammed the door shut behind him as he glared distastefully at the pathetic amount of space that the members of the house had designated as his 'room'. Using only two fingers he lifted up a sack filled with cotton wool, which was supposed to be a pillow, and threw it aside. He tested the bed and winced at the creaking sound.

"Merlin, how the hell can they live in such a place?" he fumed as he drew his wand and climbed on his trunk. He uttered a few spells and the room modified itself to suit his needs.

Gone were the old wooden bed and its distasteful array of bed sheets and pillow covers. In its place was a silver-plated super single, complete with forest green velvet and silk bed covers. Cotton pillows gave way to goose-feathered ones. The floor polished itself to sparkle in the moonlight streaming into his room. In short, everything within the former store cupboard looked like a simpler version of his Manor bedroom. Well, everything except for the amount of space. Draco only needed less than 10 steps from the door to his bed.

Sighing, he shrugged off his tailor-made coat and lay down on his bed slowly. As he recalled what happened hours earlier, his eyes moistened again.

"Mother?" Draco called out tentatively as he stood at the threshold of the Manor. He walked up the flight of stairs leading to the corridor. Slowly he peered into each room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Narcissa Malfoy. "Mother? It's me, Draco. I'm home."

Silence. "Mother?"

"Who are you? Who are you? Get out of my way! Get out!" the shrill shriek coming from the end of the corridor stunned Draco, who ran there as fast as he could.

"But Mrs Malfoy, you need your medicine," he saw a mousy raven-haired nurse trying to hold Narcissa down, but to no avail as Narcissa kept on pushing her away. "Please Mrs Malfoy. Calm down. I need to give you your medicine."

However, Narcissa merely shoved the nurse to the ground. Her platinum blonde hair, so similar to Draco's, was disheveled, a far cry from her usual well-coiffed wave. She looked as if she had not changed out of her black dress in days, with the hem coming off and the whole bodice stained with god-knows-what. Her makeup was smudged – her red lipstick had become her blusher, and her black mascara had caused her whole eye area to be darkened.

Narcissa cried out as she saw Draco. She hurried forward and clutched at the front of his shirt tightly, her blue eyes roving wildly on Draco's face. Draco held his mother just as tightly, preventing her from slipping down on her dress.

"Lucius! Lucius!" Narcissa tugged hard at Draco's shirt with every word. "Get her away from me! She wants to poison me! Get her away! Lucius, do something!"

As Draco held her close and signaling the nurse to leave them, he bit his lip hard. Where was the beautiful woman who always welcomed him with a warm hug disappear to? He sat Narcissa down on her chair before he knelt in front of her and spoon out a dose of her medicine. It pained him to see her like that.

Narcissa gulped down the medicine with a child-like fervour, clapping her hands in glee as soon as she finished. She leapt to her feet and spun around her room. Draco watched quietly from where he was kneeling. Narcissa Black was replaying senseless moments from her childhood, calling him Bella at one point in time, or whining for Mummy in the next minute. He never noticed, but the first drop of tears trickled down his cheeks.

Looking away from Narcissa, he cast a charm to lull her to sleep and promptly set her on the bed. By the time he closed the heavy door behind him, the tears were non-stopping as he slid down to cry against the door.