✓ WE NEVER SLEEP, draco malfoy

T W E N T Y - T H R E E

"And all this is metaphor. 

An ordinary hand -- just lonely

for something to touch

that touches back."

— unknown.

________________________________________

Anger and rage built up inside him. Everyday, it grew into a roaring beast only one could tame, and he had thrown her aside. He had done it to the protect her, from what was coming. 

What he had to do.

He understood what it meant to lose someone, to feel that kind of loss in the very center on him, but it was different this time. It burned him all the way through. But, he had to keep her away and he knew, when he'd looked up at her that first night back and said those hurtful things, he knew it had hurt her. He had seen the pain.

He knew what that other boy had meant to her. Even if she didn't want to admit it.

He saw them, the other night, her and Nott. Wrapped up in each others arms and it made that rage, that cruel feel of needing to release course through him. He buried himself deep into some Slytherin girl minutes later and cried afterwards.

And Draco rarely ever cried.

But he heaved air through his lungs and tried to wash away what he had done, as if he had cheated. As if he had been unfaithful, but it felt like such a bigger betrayal that every inch of him ached and throbbed. He felt dirty. He felt like he was caked in ruin. 

He didn't want to see her with anyone else but him, and yet, he'd gone off the second he felt anything and lost himself within some girl who didn't understand him. Who didn't come to him and promise to be there for him, after everything he'd done.

He'd been a fool to lie. He'd been a fool.

He'd watched her leave class, after smelling that damn potion that lit up his nostrils like a goddamn fire. It seemed, now more than ever, his body was always burning. He was drowning in it. 

He wanted to go after her, to hold her as she shook and sobbed, which Pansy said was what she had been doing. Heard the girl puking her guts up and it made Draco's lungs sting. He should've gone after her, should've told her how sorry he was, that everything he did was a mistake, was a desperate plea to keep you safe. He didn't want to burden her.

She had been crying, that day on the train. He'd seen it in the way her face was flushed and her eyes were rimmed with red. It made her look beautiful, seeing that emotion. He had forgotten how to breathe, forgotten how beautiful she'd always been. 

He'd written her over the summer, but never sent her his finished letters. He'd burned them after writing, as if it would make things better or easier. But seeing her, he wished he'd sent them.  Even in the Great Hall, it was hard not to look at her. The simple ease of her expression, lost in thought as she always was. Her hair was frizzy from the night air and she had rested her head in her hand, looking dazed as Dumbledore spoke. 

Her skin was tanned more than ever, her body was all curves and sharp features, the summer had done her well. She had looked to Potter, smiling at him in a way that made it hard to breathe. She'd written him saying she'd gone to see him a few times over the summer, reading and riding trains which was so Muggle of her and he wondered what it would be like to ride on the subway with her.