Everlasting 2 (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Communication

Rummaging through the book cases, panic filled his face as he threw books open, flipped through, slammed them shut, before shoving them back into their place and pulling out the next one and doing the exact same. It was the first time in a long time that his house was free, that he was not watched and not guarded, and all his actions were not being monitored. Only now he was free to do his research, to check everything and to scrutinise it deeply without someone peering over his shoulder intently. He did not know how much time he had left - before they would return - thus he rushed with immense speed to find answers to all he needed whilst he still could.

Finally - he found it!

He inhaled deeply, grabbing the book and shoving it into his blazer pocket. Half of the book stuck out, but he cared very little, as, with his panicked eyes, he rushed out of the library and headed through the long hallway, turning left, left, then right, and heading straight to the room which he knew to be his own room. He burst inside of it, seeing that his window was still open and his curtains were flying from the dreary weather - the rain was falling inside and wind was aggressive enough to slam the door shut behind him. He therefore rushed to the window, feeling the strong breeze hit his face and chill his body, slamming it shut before crossing over to his desk. He sat at it, stared at it, before finally exhaling deeply and pulling out the book from his pocket as he slammed it onto his desk. It was in this book that he was going to find out the truth - whether there was anything to hold onto or not.

His stomach twisted, knowing that the truth may not have been what he wished to be. It could be, 'don't ever speak to me again', or 'I no longer love you', or 'I've learned to hate you', or 'you're the nightmare I fear'. It could be all of those things, thus he attempted to keep his guard cool and not get over excited at the ability to finally find out the truth. The truth is not always what people wish it to be.

Nevertheless, he gulped, pulling out some paper and a quill with the ink. He dipped the quill slowly into the ink, getting it prepared to note, as he flipped through the pages reaching the letter S. S ... Se ... his eyes scanned down the paper, squinting as he worked hard to find the correct word. Bingo. Serva.

Scanning its true meaning, his heart bounced lightly upon the correct word. He noted: Slave.

Next - to the M. His fingers flipped through again, and, upon finding the word and its meaning, his heart fell as he noted: I/Me.

Back to the S. Yet, he could not find the word. He was only capable of finding the final You, leaving his sentence as Slave me, blank you.

He threw his head in his hands, realising the lack of sense in his phrase. He knew that Latin was no easy language - he knew it to be complex and difficult to decipher. His heart sunk completely at the realisation that, without truly knowing Latin, he would not decipher your words. Thus why - why had you made it so difficult? Why had you chosen that specific language? Why had you chosen a language aside from English at all? It was almost as though you were making a mockery of him, perhaps intentionally setting him up to work hard, just for him to find out that the words meant that he no longer had a place in your heart. Perhaps you were cruel enough to do that to him - to get revenge and tear his heart completely.

Though he was not crying, he sniffled as he stared at the paper. He wrote down: Serva me, servabo te. But what ... what did it mean? The words separately had a different meaning to what they meant together, and he began to lose his own hope as feelings of disappointment overcame him. Not only was he disappointed with the situation, but he himself began to feel like a disappointment for his inability to decipher the words of [F/n] Potter.

As he sat with his face in his hands, not wishing to see the world, the door to his bedroom lightly opened and through them revealed herself, Narcissa. Within her hand she bore a cup of tea, as she slowly carried it over to Draco's desk, feeling her heart drown in her own pity when she noticed the state of her son and the trembling of his hands as he hid his face away in them.