the girl who lost it all [d.m]

forty: aenigma

Then, he glanced up towards her window—and her pulse began to race. Silver met honey and for a moment, she thought she saw his smile soften.

But then it was gone and he only tipped his chin up in silent acknowledgement of her before turning his attention back to Demetrius who had recovered and was coming at him, fists swinging.

Elara let the curtain drop and shook her head at herself, turning to take a shower.

By the time she'd made it downstairs, everyone else had gathered for breakfast. Neville and Kaia were the ones cooking today, using their magic to add ingredients and stir the pan. Val was perched on the counter next to the stove, watching them and Hermione leaned next to her, sipping a cup of tea.

Elara made her way over to the sitting area, squeezing past August and Maya and took a seat on the sofa, opening up the book she'd brought down with her. Ever since Draco had stopped visiting the safehouse a month ago, she'd tried multiple times to get back into her research—but everytime she'd attempted it, those intrusive thoughts had slid in and made panic claw up her throat.

So she'd started off small. Started with skimming through a page of one of the fiction books Val loved to read and then moving on to two pages. Three. Four.

By the end of the month, she'd been able to shift back to her research and read for a good half hour without feeling overwhelmed or panicked, although her head would still ache throughout.

"And how are you on this fine morning?" Ron grinned as he flopped down next to her, all disheveled red hair.

Elara stifled a yawn behind her hand. "Fine. How'd you sleep?"

"Oh, like a baby." And that twinkle in his eye as he glanced at Hermione—Elara didn't have to decipher what that meant.

And some part of her ached. Not for the sex, of course—but ached that they could be so open and love each other so freely. Fall back on each other whenever they needed to, have someone to fall asleep next to every night and wake up to every morning.

"Bloody hell, Ron, you've only been here a minute and you've already made her upset," Ginny called from the armchair where she was nibbling on one of the muffins from yesterday. "Also, who the fuck puts cinnamon in—"

"I do," Demetrius grumbled as he strode in through the front door, followed by Draco.

For the second time that morning, Elara's mouth went dry—because seeing Draco Malfoy up close, shirtless and gleaming with sweat, was not something she'd ever planned on.

His scars stood out against his skin, a sharp contrast to Demetrius' dark, smooth torso, and Elara knew she should look away—but it suddenly became a feat she was unable to accomplish.

She'd only seen him shirtless twice before—once when Adolfus had attacked him and the second when they'd figured out that touching each other made their headaches recede—and both times, she'd been too preoccupied to notice much about him.

But now, her eyes seemed to soak in every ridge of his muscled torso, the strong build of his shoulders, his powerful arms, all covered with a light sheen of sweat. In Hogwarts, he'd been lean—but over the years, he'd built pure power into his body, every inch of his tall frame sculpted and beautiful.

He pushed back his damp hair with one hand, shaking his head at something Demetrius was saying and Elara found her eyes roaming over his face, over that sharp jawline and straight nose, those sharp silver eyes that were currently fixed on Demetrius next to him.

She let her eyes move lower, over his scarred torso, down his well-defined abdomen, trying to ignore the way her breath caught in her throat. To the sweats he wore—the first time she'd ever seen him in them—