Everlasting 2 (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Easy to Defeat

Everyone's eyes closed.

And soon enough, the screaming stopped. And what followed was the most dreadful sound of all, as everyone heard only one pair of footsteps descending the stairs, with heaven knows what news.

Lupin had entered the main sitting room, where all eyes immediately turned to him. Even Harry had darted into the room from the kitchen to hear of Lupin's news. Lupin, however, looked around momentarily for everyone's faces, and when he realised that not everyone was present, he waited for a couple of seconds longer. Soon enough, Draco entered the room with his solemn expression and weary eyes, and stood at the side, also awaiting the news. Finally, Lupin was free to speak.

"Yes ... it is as I suspected." He paused, leaving everyone to stare at him with longing and dissatisfied faces, wishing to know more. "Bellatrix's curse was strong enough to scar [F/n] mentally."

"What ... what does that mean?" Ron whispered out, staring in horror.

"It means that ... [F/n]'s mental state is equivalent to having been tortured for years, roughly. Quite frankly, it's a miracle that she's alive, but she appears to be unable to even escape this pain and horror in her sleep."

"What can we do?" Mr Weasley exhaled, tears within his eyes.

"Honestly? There is little for us to do. The most we can do is ensure [F/n] is kept safely, and keep a watch on her, and ensure that she isn't forced under any mental strain, which can push her over the edge. Really, how well she recovers ... is up to her."

"Then ... it should be fine, right?" Harry finally exhaled.

"Fine?" Hermione asked, darting her head to Harry with furrowed brows. "How can you say that after what's just happened? The pressure she's under!"

"No ... no ... he has a point," Ron exclaimed, lifting himself from the chair, "if it's up to [F/n] on how well she recovers ... then she'll recover amazingly. I mean - we all know [F/n], don't we?"

"This isn't like that," Ginny huffed, turning away.

"Yes it is, Ginny," Ron scoffed, "if anyone is likely to get out of something like that, it's [F/n]."

"Think about it," Harry continued, "is there anyone else we know who is so mentally strong like [F/n]? She's too ... motivated. Too motivated to reach her eventual goal of happiness and avenging our parents. She will not give up so easily, and she's my sister so I know, alright."

"He is right," Lupin agreed, "I think [F/n] has a good shot. Especially since she's still alive."

In the meantime, as the conversations ensured, upstairs were you left alone. Upon waking from your horror, you jolted awake and felt yourself in control of your body again. Indeed, it was shaky and difficult to control, but you nonetheless had stopped crying, as your lips listened to you and lifting yourself into a sitting position was far easier than before. Though with trembling hands, you were capable of slowly lifting the glass of water from the side and bringing it up to your lips. It didn't matter that you spilled half of the cup on the way to your mouth, for you successfully drank out of it and rid yourself of the dryness in your mouth. A metallic taste played upon your tongue, causing you to lightly scrunch your face and cough faintly, after which you felt a lump arise in your throat. You coughed some more forcefully, attempting to get the lump out, and when you did, you caught sight of a clot of blood on the duvet before yourself.

"Fuck," you whispered out in a whisper and a hoarse, raspy tone. Your throat hurt at the saying of this, but you nonetheless knew to give zero fucks.

It is ironic, really. Hearts were torn and broken downstairs, everyone attempting to find the tiniest bit of hope they could cling onto, hoping that [F/n] Potter would one day heal from this mental scar. Yet, upstairs you were, coughing up blood and cussing at it, pulling disgusted faces at it, spilling water over yourself and feeling frustration. You were as alive as ever.

You proceeded to whisper in your hoarse tone, "if I die, I'm a loser." Ultimate pain struck you at the process of speaking, for your throat was in no state to speak, but you nonetheless weakly rolled your eyes before setting the glass of water aside. "Never having a bitch ass dream like that again."

In this exact moment, downstairs everyone was looking back and forth at each other, tears within everyone's eyes as they began to discuss what the worst possibility could be, and what it meant for everyone else. For [F/n] Potter to potentially never recover from this state, and spend every night screaming, trapped in her own mind. For the possibility of her losing herself, never being able to be reckless and impulsive again, never be able to cuss and swear and insult and fight. Draco had already told himself mentally that, if that were the case, he would stick by your side. Even if he would never get a good night's sleep due to your screams ever again, he promised himself to remain by your side, even if you were never to be the [F/n] Potter you once were.

"Bet these hoes think I'm dead," you groaned, lifting the duvet off yourself weakly, "fuck I'm hungry. Maybe I should speaking, my throat hurts," and with this, you rose quietly and slowly as to avoid passing out from any drastic actions. You held onto any nearby objects to keep yourself on your feet as you felt your heart race increase from standing. How many hours had passed? Or days? You did not know whether you were asleep, or in a coma. It was all one big blur, and the most vivid thing you could remember was hearing the Cruciatus Curse, followed by severe pain, and then your thoughts had become so erratic that you could scarcely trace anything back afterwards. There was the dream - yes - you remembered that. A horrible dream, at that!

"Aw fuck, I look ugly when I'm dead. Can't let Draco see me like that," you huffed out, holding onto the wall and attempting to regain your breath which was taken from your standing.

As everyone could scarcely breathe downstairs, you proceeded to slowly exit the bedroom. You were incredibly motivated to reach the kitchen and get some food, for you were filled with some horrid agony and hunger, and you wished to eradicate it with some lasagne and cookies. No one could hear your footsteps, for you were walking so carefully as to not slip and fall, or to not pass out. And thus, when you had successfully reached the bottom of the stairs and headed to the sitting room, you discovered for the door to be closed.

Thus, you huffed and outstretched your hand to the door, after which you swung the door open and felt it hit something on the inside.

"Oop," was all you could whisper out, as Lupin's eyes shot open in horror after he'd been hit with the door. He thus turned to the door and opened it wider, revealing you standing at it. All eyes widened at the sight of you and the splendid manner in which you functioned, as you stood and looked back and forth at everyone's expressions, realising that indeed, they were speaking of your death most likely.

Draco's eyes lit up immediately; never had he been filled with hope as quickly as he had now. Colour immediately returned to his face as his eyes became vibrant once more, looking upon you, not knowing whether to be happy or scared. Is it ... is it normal for someone to recover so quickly after such an act? Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Ron, all the members of the Order, Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Snape ... they all stared in horror at you, their eyes widened and sharpened, yet colour flowing back to everyone's faces.

"What?" You scoffed, holding onto the frame of the doorway.

"How are you ... " Hermione began.

"You don't think it's that easy to defeat me, do you?"