Everlasting 2 (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Therapy on Loneliness

And within my fingertips, life had seemed scarcer than ever. We are shadows of our present selves, drifting away behind ourselves, left emptier than before. There is no touch to us, we are cold and feeble; let the light shine on us, and we are vulnerable within disappearance. Let me be your light. I will hold you, and you will never dim on me again. 

You placed the quill down, staring at the paper before yourself. Rain continued to spill down the glass pane, reflecting itself within the moonlight, shining on your cheeks as a shadow. The smell of the old books lingered, allowing you to inhale their history deeply within. 

You recalled the many times you'd sat at this library desk, in the corner of the library. The many times Draco caught you in it, and had come over. Even Ginny. Hermione, too. And Harry. 

You picked the quill up again, dipped it in ink, and pressed against the paper again. 

Only temporality gives us meaning. Only in impermanence can I trust your beauty. Let thy brow be my pillow, I will rest within its irrelevance. Hold me, even in the feeblest parts of yourself. 

And the quill was placed down once more. You bit down on your fingernails, biting around, leaving signs of anxiety. It seemed as though the past few days you'd been lonelier than usual. There was a gentle solemnity present around you at all times, even when people spoke to you, they sensed your desire to be alone. 

Not only Draco, but particularly Ginny and Blaise, felt themselves pushed away slightly at many occurrences. They did not know what was happening with you, if anything was happening at all.

Was anything happening? No. Not really. Nothing unusual. Everything did truly feel ordinary. Except for the whole Merlin's power, Greengrasses, and the Quidditch games, of course. Which, speaking of, your game with Ilvermony was due in just two days, and you had not stepped onto a broom since the Uagadou game. Though not a wise choice, you did not berate yourself for it. 

And once more you lifted the quill, completed the paragraph, and then slammed your notebook shut once the ink had dried. That was enough for today. 

In mortality do I see your peace. It is in my inability to hold you forever, that my skin warms itself. I rest now. I shall rest within these arms, for as long as I know who I am. 

        "How have you been, [F/n]?" Ursula asked, sitting back in her chair. "I haven't seen you in a while. The games have been keeping you busy with training?"

"Well ... no. No, I haven't been training much. Though I should, the next game is tomorrow."

"You benefit from rest," she smiled. "Speaking of - congratulations on your last game. We haven't had a chance to see each other since. How are your studies?"

"They're okay." You paused, looking around the room nervously, recalling the presence of Astoria in this room and how she had been visiting Ursula after your sessions. "I haven't done much studying either recently."

"I see." She crossed one leg over the other. "So what have you been up to?"

"Not much," your eyes scanned from left and right around the room, noticing the clean walls, the paintings, but the Greengrass manor in particular. Some other photos hung around, but nothing was out of the ordinary. 

"You're very on edge, [F/n]. Is something bothering you?"

"Hm? Oh, no. I'm fine." You cleared your throat and sat back in the chair, focusing your attention on her. "You know how it can be."

She nodded.

"I'm sorry for cancelling so many sessions so abruptly."

"That's fine. Would you like to do a breathing exercise to calm down before we speak?"

"No. I'm fine." 

You made it a point to breathe a little deeper, almost as though to prove to her that you knew how to breathe on your own. No assistance needed. 

"How have you been feeling? Genuinely?" 

"Genuinely?" You repeated. "Genuinely ... I think I've been feeling very ... sad. I've been lonely. Almost as though by my own fault, though. I've been staying away from most people most nights and days. I've spent most of my days and nights in the Astronomy Tower, or the library, either reading or writing. I've really been focused on my writing." 

She nodded, smiling. She didn't write anything down. After she realised you were done talking, she continued. 

"What do you mean that you've been lonely?" 

"What do I mean that I'm lonely?" You repeated, with an inhale, trying to process her question. Your eyes wandered around the room again, this time in deeper thought, trying to understand your own emotions and verbalise them for her. 

"I feel ... as if I want to go home ... but I don't know where home is." 

She wrote something down. You continued. 

"I constantly feel on edge, I think. It's worsened with recent times. But it's a different type of on edge to how it used to be with Voldemort." 

"And what was that 'on-edge' like, compared to now?" 

You thought. "That on-edge was ... active. Yes - active. It was, like, there was something constantly on my mind. I was actively anxious about something. Usually, I could pin-point what the anxiety was over. I think I just felt more in control of my anxiety then, or maybe ... it's like ... I don't know ... I just feel like my anxiety made more sense then."

"Why so?" 

"I was fighting one of the most powerful and dangerous wizards of all time. It made sense to be anxious - it was a big thing back then. Everyone kind of ... related. Everyone was anxious about it. Everyone had similar thoughts and fears. Like, if I gave a speech about feeling anxious about what's to come, and how the future is uncertain and scary, my audience would've nodded along and agreed and related."

"And now?"

"Now ... if I gave a speech about the anxieties I have ... the fears ... what I feel now, I think people wouldn't get it. It doesn't feel so relatable anymore. Which is why I think it feels less valid. Which ... now that I say it out loud ... it sounds like maybe that's why I'm feeling so lonely." 

She wrote something down, and nodded. She then placed her pen back down, and looked up at you. 

"This is just a suggestion, but do you think that might be why you're avoiding some of your friends and closest people?"

"I guess. It could be." 

"Why do you believe that your anxieties are less valid if they are not relatable to others, but solely your own?" 

And thus [F/n] Potter pondered. And she answered, in her own way, with her own uncertainty. It is interesting, reader. Therapy sessions are supposed to be confidential ... yet, look at us, here. Look at us taking a little sneaky peek at this unfortunate session, which did last for another forty-five minutes. 

And poor [F/n] Potter spilled out her heart as much as she could without spilling sensitive information. And she learned about herself, about her behaviours and her thought patterns, which she did not doubt she wanted to change. There was a peace in saying it all out loud, and a little of that anxiety was eased.