Metanoia

It was 3:37 am when he startled awake. Outside the house, there was a strike of lightning bright enough to temporarily light up the room. He kept still, waiting for the deafening thunder to crash, tensing as it did. The rain beat down loudly, and he walked over to the open window, yanking it shut. A small puddle had formed on the floor near the window and he cursed as he accidentally stepped on it. 

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had gone straight to sleep since making that potion. Which was roughly around late afternoon. Licking his parched lips, he rubbed the side of his eyes and noticed that shallow grooves had formed on his face and hands. A good rest then. Now for the next order of business. He stared at the table expectantly, visualising steak with a side of mashed potatoes. 

And getting an omelette, fried beans and a glass of milk. 

“Come on,” he grumbled, rapping his knuckle against the table. “I don’t want sodding fried beans. Steak. Ribeye. Side of mashed potatoes.” It didn’t budge, just added more fried beans on his plate. He begrudgingly sat down to eat anyway when his stomach voiced its protest once more. 

It was kind of nice, apart from the food. Just sitting down in the comfortable silence of the house, only disturbed by the pattering of rain outside. But it was not a disturbance, more of a pleasant background noise. He broke the yolk with his fork and watched the yellow ooze out, wondering why his mind was quiet. But he wasn’t complaining. 

The light in Weasleys room suddenly switched on and it immediately broke the spell. He cursed again. “She better not be coming downstairs,” he muttered to himself, glaring at the stairs to check. 

She was.

He chugged down his glass of milk and stood up, not sticking around to hear what kind of bullshit she ultimately would spew. But he was too late.

“Oh. Malfoy,” she croaked, clearly just woken up. She tensed, automatically as always in his presence.  “Why are you still awake?” 

“Why are you?” He countered, taking in her ratty sleeping gown probably passed down from her sisters. “Did you sense that I was awake and think to yourself, ‘I haven’t been bitched at someone in a while, let’s go see if Malfoy’s up?’”

“I asked first,” she said annoyedly, but it was kind of ruined with how sleep laden her voice was. 

“Piss off. None of your business.”

“Fine. Merlin, Malfoy, you act like you’d die on the spot if you stopped being an arse for a second.”

“Would you look at that?” He mocked, pitching his eyebrows up like he was impressed. “Saint Weasel admonishing a lesser man like she’d never once argued with him in her life-“

“I’ve been trying to avoid arguing since we got here,” she said, unconsciously stepping closer in her frustration. “In case it escaped your attention.”

It hadn’t, actually. He thought back to all their interactions since they got here, and marked in his mind how they didn’t get as explosive as they would’ve back in hogwarts. 

“And why is that, Wealsey? You trying to chum it up? Is that your plan to survive this mindfuck?” He laughed a little at how ridiculous it sounded.

Weasley, ready to put behind a decade of hatred over three days of being stuck in the same house. 

“Of course not,” she said, looking at him like he’d grown three heads. “ Like I’ll just forget the way you treated me and my friends for years. It’s just easier to not be constantly yelling and-“

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a clap of thunder, the loudest yet. She yelped, instinctively grasping his arm. 

They stood frozen until the rumble stopped, but for two entirely different reasons.

As soon as she realised what she was doing, she let go as if burnt, stumbling back. “I-“

“Would you look at that,” he said smirking,  ignoring the way her body had felt pressed against his for those scarcely three seconds. Or at least trying to. “Brave little Gryffindor, afraid of a little thunder?”

“It took me by surprise is all!” She yelled, cheeks tinting scarlet.

“I guess your way of showing surprise is flinging yourself at other people. Not surprising. Given how fucking touchy feely you and those Gryffindors are.” He said, tilting his head in thought. “Must be driving you mad not having Potter around.”

“It’s called affection,” she said, the implication of his words flying over her head. “You’d understand if the only friend you have wasn't your mother.”

“Just cause we don’t shag each other every chance we get-“

“What?!” She squeaked, turning beet red.  “How do you even come to that con-“

“Oh come off it,” he said, scoffing. “Like everyone doesn’t know about you and potter.” He ignored the bitter taste it put in his mouth, just chalking it up to his usual disgust at her.

“Oh my God, not you too.” She said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Didn’t take you as one to subscribe to the rumour mill, Malfoy.”

“It’s pretty fucking obvious. I don’t have to ask around to see what’s that’s going on in plain sight.”

“Harry’s like a brother to me,” she said, tired of explaining this for the thousandth time. “You must be confusing us for whatever you and Parkinson have going on.”

“Pansy?” He asked, the confusion momentarily throwing him off. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

“Isn’t she your girlfriend or something? Not that I care” she didn’t, but admittedly she was a little curious. Malfoy was infamous at school for his string of girlfriends, even having a playboy reputation for being with a new girl every other week. But she always thought it wasn’t really true. What kind of girl would put up with his awful behaviour, let alone so many? It seemed a little impossible. 

Maybe Parkinson, Merlin knows.

“No,” he said, looking irked that she’d even consider her as a candidate. “She’s only after my last name anyways.” 

“Huh?” Well, that was unexpected. “What do you mean?”

“Not that it’s any of your business Weasley.” He scowled, and she once again wondered exactly how it was that so many girls seemed to like this prat. 

Another strike of thunder boomed in their ears but thankfully she didn’t do anything to embarrass herself this time. A sudden thought came to her mind, bringing with it a rising quell of anxiety. 

“Where will we sleep? Tomorrow night I mean. Especially with all this rain.”

“Here.”

“What do you mean here, we have to leave tomorrow-“ 

“We’ll just look around tomorrow. Get an idea of the area. And then come back here to sleep.”

Everything was moving at such a slow pace, she wanted to scream. But logically, it was a sound plan. She felt a million questions swirl in her head. What if they found out whatever was outside was too dangerous? Would they abandon this plan? Will they be-

Will they be stuck here forever?

She swallowed unsteadily, gripping the tables edge for comfort. No. No, whatever it was, she was leaving. If it was too dangerous then she’d deal with it. Even if it..

All the better if that’s how you end up dead.

She flinched as Malfoy’s words from earlier came to mind. Looking at him again, she was struck with a horrible mixture of anger and bitterness. Why him, she asked again, to no one or maybe to some entity who was out for her destruction. What was this.. just what was happening?

Was her time up? A last cruel joke before her untimely demise? She was spiraling she knew, the mess of anxiety and hopelessness pulling her into a wave of uncontrollable thoughts but she couldn’t stop it. All the times she’d wished to stand out from Harry and Hermione splayed in her mind suddenly and she halted. Was this maybe some kind of retribution for that? 

You wanted so bad to be a hero, now here’s your chance, her mind supplied with a jeer. What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?

Stop it, she begged herself, struggling to breathe. “I never,” she said out loud, “I never meant something like this”

“Huh? The hell are you on about? Did that tiny brain of yours finally br-“

“Don’t talk to me!,” she shouted with such ferocity that Malfoy stopped mid insult. There was a ringing in her ears and she slapped her hands over them. “Just don’t. Don’t talk to me. I don’t wanna ever-“ she breathed in a shallow gulp of air, and moved away from him, nearly stumbling. She turned away from Malfoy’s puzzled face and silently made her way up to her room. The red and gold blanket appeared in her vision. It halted her where she stood. She exhaled slowly, and ran her hands over the fabric in disbelief and reverence. A thousand times she must have done it, but she’s never paid as much attention to the well worn blanket as she did now. The same blanket she’s pulled over herself every night for years now, with it’s one flower near the edge which she’d drawn when bored. The very same. Not a replica. A tendril of unexpected hope bloomed in her chest at the sight. She didn’t know why, but it felt like assurance. Like guidance. Like a gentle voice in her ear, telling her it was all going to be okay. Promise.

She clung onto it with all she had.