the girl who lost it all [d.m]

fifty four: inretire

She had no idea he'd been the one to stab her in the first place.

I made mistakes. More than I can count—but I've been trying to make up for it. And I know it'll never be enough but I—I had to try.

That had been the last thing she'd heard before she'd turned and fled for the window, shoving it up and swinging her legs over the sill without a second thought. It had taken her only a few seconds to land in the garden, vault over the fence and start running.

She'd turned the corner of Orion's street and had thought she heard Draco call her name. Had thought she heard the pure raw terror in his voice—but then reminded herself that even if he had called for her, he didn't care.

But he did. She knew he did. Despite her anger, despite her hurt, her Ravenclaw brain wouldn't stop sifting through the facts.

He'd done everything for her from the moment she'd been taken from Malfoy Manor. He'd looked for her for two whole years, successfully rescued her, made sure she was safe at the safehouse.

But then he'd left her alone for two more years—and that didn't seem like something someone who cared about her would do. She'd needed someone—he had to have known how lost and terrified she'd feel in the months after her rescue. So if he really cared about her—why hadn't he ever come? Why had it taken her waking up with his name on her mind one day and sending a Patronus to get him to step back into her life?

But after that—he'd gone above and beyond for her. He had taunted and prodded her until she snapped at him, challenged and infuriated her until she couldn't not argue back. He'd hidden the way he cared, had dressed it up in lies of how she was a burden and he wasn't here to take care of her—but then he'd done exactly that. He'd knelt in front of her in the snow as she'd tried to numb herself, had tortured George with a Crucio when he'd hurt her. He'd given her a memory from Hogwarts, had tried to keep her away from the fighting, had always been there whenever she turned for help.

And then he'd held her on Lucifer, worked with her on the ring, done his best to keep her safe within Paisley. He'd kissed her the night they were about to die in Poland and had done everything in his power to get her out of there—even if it meant sacrificing himself.

And when she fell down that deep, dark hole after Iris' death, he'd waited for her. She came out of it on her own—but he'd been waiting on the other side with those silver eyes and wicked smirk. And there he had stayed, by her side, supporting her when she needed it, falling back when she didn't, letting her heal and kissing away her tears when she realised she hadn't got there yet.

Until now.

Now, it felt like he'd been ripped away from her—like she'd lost him all over again.

It hurt.

She realised too late that she had burst into the Main Square. The clocktower loomed above her, ominous and tall, the hands indicating it was almost nine in the evening.

Elara stumbled back, the deserted courtyard putting every single one of her instincts on edge. She'd gone too far. She'd gone way too far. She needed to get back to Orion's—

"Don't you know it's almost curfew, witch?"

Elara whirled to face a Death Eater, tall and lanky, his features covered by the golden mask they all wore.

Fear raced through her like wildfire—but then the Death Eater let out a sharp gasp and stepped back, his hand moving for his wand.

"Elara?"