"But pain's like water. It finds a way to push through any seal. There's no way to stop it. Sometimes you have to let yourself sink inside of it before you can learn how to swim to the surface." –Katie Kacvinsky

*

     The next night, before going to the Room of Requirement, Draco takes one of the white birds out of its cage carefully, holding it gently so as not to scare or injure it. He walks the rest of the way with the bird firmly inside his robes, hoping it won't make noise and give him away to Mrs. Norris, who he's sure searches for him every night since she saw him that one time.

     When he gets inside, Darcy isn't near the Vanishing Cabinet or in Draco's vision line. Panicking slightly, he calls out her name.

     "Up here!" Draco looks up to see Darcy perched on top a large block that he's sure wasn't there the day before. She must've wished for it. On the block with her is a telescope and also Draco's astronomy books that he lent her. She's gazing through it, occasionally consulting the books. The circular skylight is the perfect size to see the night sky.

     "Finding anything interesting?" he asks as an amused smile grows on his face.

     "Just about every planet in our solar system," she responds. "Did you bring me a specimen?"

     "I did." He shows her the bird, still in his fist.

     "Perfect." She jumps down, landing swiftly and silently on her feet. She carefully takes the bird from his hands. He opens the doors for her, and she lets the bird hop out of her hands into the center. Draco closes the doors. "Harmonia Nectere Passus."

     There's the whoosh and the bird is gone, a good sign according to Darcy.

    "Harmonia Nectere Passus."

     The whoosh again. They both hesitate before opening the doors. When Draco finally turns the handles, he feels his heart sink to the bottom of his feet. The bird lies dead in the center, blood on its wing and chest.

     "So close," Darcy says sadly. "It's alright. We'll fix the problem and try again soon."

     Draco feels his shoulders slump. "This always happens to me. I always fail sooner or later."

     "Draco, this isn't a failure, just a bump in the road," Darcy says reassuringly. "And it's not your fault, not entirely. We both failed a little bit."

     "What if we can't fix it in time?" That crippling anxiety is clawing its way back up Draco's chest.

     "We will. And if we don't, I'll answer to whomever it is you're doing this for, okay?" Draco feels like she knows exactly who he's working for, which means she just volunteered to turn herself over to the Dark Lord.

     "No, you won't," Draco says darkly. "This was my mission first. You're not going to pay for my failure."

    Darcy looks him sternly in the eyes. "This Cabinet is going to be fixed in time. I promise."

*

     After the bad start to their day, Draco and Darcy decide to take a break for the rest of the night, not working on the Vanishing Cabinet at all. Draco needed some coaxing, but he eventually gave in and sat down with Darcy to relax—something he hadn't done all year.

     "Are you going home for the holidays?" Darcy asks as she eats the food he brought her.

     "No," Draco says. "I don't want to. And I have to keep at this." He gestures to the cabinet. "But if you want to—"

     "Where would I go?" she asks, slightly amused. "Aberforth hates the holidays. And Ollivander is who knows where. He's my uncle, so if I were to spend the holidays with anyone it'd probably be him."

     Draco didn't know she was related to Ollivander. "The wand maker, that's who you're talking about, right?"

     Darcy nods. "I remember the first time I went for a wand, I had to stay the night because we couldn't find my match. I've been through twenty-seven wands—one for every time I've been in Azkaban, because, you know, they break them once you're in—and I think I've just found my match this time around."

     "That's strange," Draco says. "He knew my wand in one try." Draco flicks his wand upward, successfully igniting the once burned out chandelier. New light floods the area.

     "I wish you'd've done that three months ago," Darcy mutters.

     Draco chuckles, pondering whether she'd be okay with answering a question he has. If she doesn't want to talk about it, he understands.

     "What's on your mind, Draco I-don't-know-your-middle-name Malfoy?"

     "It's Lucious," Draco says with a frown. "But I was just curious, and you don't have to answer, but...what's it like in Azkaban?"

     Darcy hesitates, and when Draco turns his gaze to her, her eyebrows are furrowed and the look in her eyes is far away like every time someone brings up Azkaban. Eventually, she answers.

     "It's cold. It's very cold. And it's the type of chill that a visitor wouldn't feel because the coldness takes a while to seep under your skin. I didn't feel it until my tenth or eleventh visit because of my short intervals of imprisonment. But if there's one word to describe it, it's cold. Most people would guess that it's dreary and sad, and it definitely is, but I've noticed that there's a process.

     "First the cold seeps in, and you shiver like there's no tomorrow. Your fingers turn blue and your lips are numb. And just when you think you've frozen, the sadness aura kicks in. The cold reverses and all you feel instead is the depression and hatred of everyone around you, and in that moment, you want the cold back. You'd rather shiver and suffer than feel suffocated, like you're choking on everyone's sadness.

     "After that wave, there's just uncertainty. You're not sure what's outside anymore, you don't know who you used to be, and you sure as hell don't remember whether you're innocent or not. Azkaban makes you question the entirety of everything. Am I dead? Where am I? Will I ever get out? What did I do? Who out there cares for me? Who am I?

     "You asked me when we first met how I managed to stay sane through all of my trials and lock-ups. I never gave you an answer, but if I had to give you one, it'd be that I haven't. People think of insanity and they picture prisonors banging on the bars and mumbling incoherent words and pulling their hair out. And that does happen to some—but only some. There's a different kind of insanity, an internal kind, where that person feels that nothing is concrete anymore. Every question can be answered with skepticism and uncertainty. And I think it's that insanity that got to me. Because I'm pretty sure I'm the most confused person on the planet.

     "I've tried to be positive about this Vanishing Cabinet business. I thought doing something good for once might help me figure myself out. But so far, I haven't seen a change." Darcy's eyes have become dark as coals and tired, depressed. "All in all, Azkaban makes you wish you were dead. It makes you wish you could disappear and start over. But at the same time, it pounds the idea in your head that you can't do any of those things. It completely crushes your hope."

     Draco can only stare. After a few moments of silence, she adds,

     "But I'm alive. I'll survive."

     Draco frowns deeper. All he can think to do is extend his hand, offering it like it's some kind of anchor. Darcy takes it and rests her head on his shoulder.

     "You're going to be fine."

     "I don't want to ever go back."

     "You won't." Draco feels his eyes become stormy. "I'll make sure of it."