Tainted Love

Lucius

DRACO

Draco woke up cold. Half the sheets at his waist, goosebumps dotting his arms. He reached down to pull the blankets back over his body, glancing out the window. His eyes must have adjusted to the dark in his sleep -- he could see every detail of the balcony and the yard below it by the light of the moon.

He blinked, breathing in until he couldn't take any more air into his body. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. If he could only calm down... but he had never been calm on the night before.

Turning on his side, he reached blindly for his wand on the bedside table and wrapped his hand around its hilt. Even delirious with sleep and the remnants of what must have been a nightmare, he could still cast a Clock Charm nonverbally.

The numbers shimmered in the air above him for a second before fading away. 23:37. He let all the air out of his lungs until his whole body was empty, a shell.

There was some comfort in knowing that it was still the 12th, that the actual day hadn't come yet. He ran a hand over his chest, pressing the warmth into his body, then turned to look at Iris.

She was curled up, hair fanned out all over her face. Still sleeping. Good. He could feel her body heat in the inches of space between him. If he pulled her to him she could warm him up.

But she'd wake up too, and he'd have to tell her that he had had a nightmare, and then she'd be worried. She was already worried, and, though Draco would never say it, she was worried for good reason.

Even in prison, Lucius Malfoy was a force to be reckoned with. Draco only had to reckon with him once a year, but even so the event cast a formidable shadow over his life, affected him before and after so much that it seemed like it took a whole month of his life away.

The visit was tomorrow. He'd been dreading it -- something worse than dread, actually.

When he went to put his wand back on the bedside table he realized he had been holding Iris's the entire time. He wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed -- his was dark and smooth, gold around the hilt, while Iris's was blond and rough with carvings.

He shut his eyes knowing he couldn't make it through the night.

He was right. The second time he woke up he didn't bother to check the time. It was still dark, the world full of quiet rustling and hushed voices. Iris had uncurled her body and her calf was pressed up against his, warm and soft. All of her was so soft.

The third time he woke up she woke up with him. He must have twitched in his sleep, struck out at her somehow, because when he opened his eyes she was already blinking herself awake, mouth falling open with confusion that quickly melted into concern.

She moved closer to him and he was right -- she was so warm he could hardly stand it. He put his arms around her and drew her into his chest as if she was the one that needed comforting. She nudged his skin with her nose.

"About tomorrow?" Iris murmured. She phrased it like a question, but Draco wasn't sure it was.

"Yes," he said back. "Tomorrow."

She hummed. "It's just a day."

He put his hand on the back of her head, ran his fingers through her hair a couple of times. She always breathed so deep, her body growing and shrinking with the weight of each inhale and exhale. He tried to copy her sometimes, but he could never quite manage. Perhaps years of smoking had fucked his lungs up.

They used to smoke all the time, back when they went back and forth between apartments and bars. At home there were less cigarettes. He missed the ash sometimes, the easy burning. But he didn't think about it much.