you're my person-a draco malfoy story

10

"But," I searched his face for answers I wouldn't find, "I don't know anything about where they are. I know barely anything about them. How am I supposed to know what happened?"

"I don't know," he shook his head gravely. "For the time being, you'll be safe. The Dark Lord is more pleased with your existence than anything. But he won't remain that way for long. That's why I need to see you back to Hogwarts as soon as you feel you can. You'll be much safer within the castle walls."

"What about you?" I knew the answer, but needed to ask. "What does he want from you?" My gaze trickled to the marks on his skin. "Draco..." I could barely speak. "Is this because of me?"

"No," he gritted out, his face tightening in pain. "Hey hey hey," I supported him against my weight and helped him over to the bed. "Let me see."

He reluctantly pulled up his arm and I winced at the sight of the Dark Mark. I'd never seen one besides glimpses I'd caught on my parents' skin-an accidental rolled-up sleeve as my father cooked, or my mother stepping out from a bath. It had always shocked me to my core-the contrast between fair skin and such a morose message. The significance of it all had always surpassed me but now I knew, and I feared it. Scratches, like someone was fighting within, littered his arm and up to his shirt sleeve. "Draco..." I tried to find the words in vain but I couldn't. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm a monster, Bree," his voice was staunch. "You can't have anything to do with me."

"That's not your choice," I kissed his collarbone and felt him tense up from the contact of lips to skin. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't," he groaned fiercely, trying to push my hand aside. "You're going to get hurt."

"Then that's my choice to make," I laced my fingers in with his to calm him down. "But why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not your business," he turned over. "I don't owe you anything."

"Don't be like this," my voice rose in frustration. "Please don't shut me out again. Please, Draco,"  I felt my eyes well up with tears as I escalated to desperation. "Please, just tell me why."

"Because I can't have you both, ok?" he snapped impatiently, slamming his fist against the beside table. "You don't want this for yourself, do you?" I was silent, and he chuckled darkly, crossing his arms back over his chest, wincing but refusing to show it. "Right," his voice had too many emotions to count behind it. "That's what I thought."

I rolled up the sleeves of the night dress Narcissa had given me and looked beside me on the bedtable with all of the gauze and sheets and stitches she had left. "You have to trust me," I said when I caught him looking nervously at the needles. "It's a lot less scary than riding a broom."

He nodded, relenting control, and I felt a rush of pride at the knowledge that I could calm him. I slowly picked up a needle, and squeezed his hand as I lifted up his shirt and exposed his bare back to the cold, judgmental air. He flinched upon impact, and I kissed the space between his collarbones as I began to thread the needle on the first cut. "You have to trust me," I murmured, keeping all of my focus on holding my hand steady. "Talk to me." His voice was pained.

"What about?" 

"I don't know. Anything. I'd hear about the damned Muggles before I sat here in silence while you sew me like a Christmas sweater."

I held back a laugh. "If you say so. In the Muggle World, I was this thing called a Girl Scout."

He scoffed. "What's that, some sort of pathetic Muggle club?"

"Something like that," I grinned. "We sold cookies and won badges for completing tasks."

"Like a Horcrux," he said, pleased with himself. "No," I shook my head. "A lot more common, and a lot less deadly. And First Aid was a badge I always got really easily," I dipped my head in embarrassment, worried that at the realization our worlds and backgrounds were so different, he'd cast me aside. "That was the point of my story." I finished another stitch, and snipped the thread. He was silent for a moment, and I was sure I'd lost him. "That's a sight to see, Barnes. You gathering Muggle Horcruxes for selling pasties." He laughed, and in it, there was real, genuine, humor. 

I dipped a washcloth into water and held it over the encrusted blood. It melted away almost magically, as soon as the cloth came in contact with his skin. "It's charmed," he said, almost in a duh tone, before I could form a sentence to ask. "My mother's a bit of a genius when it comes to this stuff."

"Why didn't you tell me about your family?" I couldn't help but ask. "I would never hand you over to the Ministry."

"Because," he gritted his teeth. "It's not your fight to worry about. It's mine."

"It's not fair that you have to deal with your parent's mistakes," I tried to reach him, but he was slipping. "It's just..." my fingers hovered over his side, "Something to think about."

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