Chapter eighteen

                                    

                                          
Draco held the copy of the Daily Prophet so hard he creased the edges. His fingers were white. At first, he had assumed it was a rumor. But this was fact. Seeing it written on a headline—a published headline—sent his stomach turning in uncomfortable ways. 
                          
He wondered how many people believed it. Did his mother? His father? How many others? 
                          
How long had this been floating around? How long were people believing it? He kept his face hidden behind the hood he was wearing. Nothing else seemed to matter. Not when he was reading that headline. Not when he was suddenly overwhelmed with so many questions. So many unanswered questions. 
                          
People bustled around him but luckily, did not seem to notice him. This was a necessary stop. Draco and Harry did not expect to find any distractions. It was supposed to be quick. It was supposed to be stealthy. It was supposed to be in and out. Right now, they were hitting a major setback. Why? Draco was frozen in place. His hands were shaking. Color had left his face. His feet were planted in place. And Harry? Well, Harry was off getting the previsions they needed to start their plan. He was far away from Draco. He was not there to pull the blond out of his distressed state. 
                          
Draco took a deep shaky breath. He could see nothing but the article. The stupid headline. It was one thing to hear the bounty hunter say it in a mocking tone before he died. It was an entirely different thing to see it written as a headline on a published article in the Daily Prophet. Something he had the time to properly process. 
                          
Unwillingly, his body start to shake. He had to get himself under control. People would start to notice. He could not have people noticing. Not when he was apparently assumed to be dead. No. This was good. When he really thought about it this was a good rumor. It added in their plan. It helped them hide from the public. It made things easier. It should have made things easier. 
                          
But the thought that his parents believed he was dead, ate at him so much, that there was no possible way this could help them with their plan. It was a problem. A big nasty problem that would only fester as Draco had more and more time to process it. 
                          
He turned around, back into the crowd of bustling witches and wizards. Only one thought was on his mind: he had to find his mother. He just had to. He was not thinking clearly. He was being irrational. He was making a mistake and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it. 
                          
With shaking limbs, he stumbled through the crowd. He tried to keep his head as low as possible. The Daily Prophet was still clutched in his hands. His eyes were not seeing the path in front of him clearly. His mind was too cluttered with questions to focus. And he needed to focus. If only he could focus, then he would not be walking in this direction. Walking away from the meet-up spot him and Harry had agreed on. Walking away from the one the good decision he had ever made. Walking away from the last thread of safety he could have had. And walking right towards the one thing he and Harry were trying to hide from. Prevent at all costs. He was practically handing himself over. 
                          
He stopped.
                          
Was that the point? Was it just a lie to get him to come forward? To bring himself to them? Was it all just a ploy? Was he walking right into a trap? 
                          
With his gut, heart, and soul, he knew the answer to that. Yes. He would be walking right into a trap, if kept going in the direction he was going. Getting caught would do them no good. He had to keep his head on straight. He had to think rationally. Logically. He had to know that with everything they had gone through, he should turn around. Go back to the meeting spot. Stay there. And hope that Harry would be able to talk some sense into him. Any sense would do really. 
                          
So, he took a deep breath, and turned around. He walked back through the crowd and stopped in the alley behind the ice cream parlor. And he waited. The Daily Prophet still clutched in his hand, because even though he convinced himself to turn back, he still could not drop the newspaper.