𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 - 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞

❃ chapter eighteen

❃

Draco didn't sleep for the first three days.

When the soft sounds of chatting in the distance faded at night, he would allow himself to cry.

One night, with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks he'd turned to see Dumbledore standing in the archway. Draco's jaw clenched in anger, ready to be scolded for being out of bed after hours, but he merely walked away at a waltzing pace, as though he didn't have a care in the world.

What if she never woke up?

He passed out on the fourth day.

His friends brought meals in rotations, keeping him company for the hour, and to give him his homework assignments.

They never stayed long. They knew he wanted to be alone with her.

He cried from pure fatigue, exhaustion and heartache; the only thing keeping him sane had been violently ripped away from him by his enemy.

On more than one occasion, he thought perhaps he deserved this. The torture of her absence.

He didn't sleep, eat, let alone leave her side as to make sure Potter wouldn't enter and try to approach her, and Theodore had taken over the cabinet entirely.

He'd stretch in the mornings to prevent his limbs from going numb and force himself awake by drinking wide eye potions. Eventually, Madam Pomfrey cut off his supply, and his doses were replaced by multiple cups of caffeinated coffee.

All he could hope was that she was dreaming. Pleasant dreams. Or silence, nothingness. Anything other than a never ending nightmare.

His slender fingers flipped through the pages of untouched books from the library to keep himself from overthinking things. He'd get lost in a world that wasn't his own, distracting his mind from the limp body on the bed before him.

She was to be transferred to St. Mungo's Hospital should she not be awake by Friday.

It was Wednesday, June 4th.

Two weeks after Potter had shred her apart.

Madam Pomfrey had gifted Draco a cot, allowing him to sleep beside her with one eye open. He knew The Boy Who Lived would attempt to sneak in eventually.

Not to mention the fact that he had to renew the invisibility spell on her dark mark every twelve hours. It'd become a new routine for all of the young death eaters.

Every morning Draco hoped it'd be the morning he'd hear her voice again.

Every morning he was met by the cold feeling of sheer disappointment.

Perseus was in the St. Mungo's ICU. If she were to go there without him, sleeping under the same roof as her Father without his protection, Draco's restlessness would skyrocket.

That night, as he sat slumped on a chair next to her bedside, he could've sworn he heard the sound of her soft laugh. He'd fallen asleep with their fingers intertwined, head of blonde hair sunk into the mattress.

Although the chair was extremely uncomfortable, Draco didn't seem to care. He felt as though he were going mad.

"Draco?"

A groan left his lips as he jerked awake, head accidentally hitting the back of his chair.

Maybelle smirked.

"Stop laughing, damn you-" he paused, staring into her rejuvenated eyes, "Fuck, I missed you."

He took her hands in his, kissing her knuckles as his breath warmed her freezing fingertips.