domus: home, house, abode
———
DRACO entered his mother's private hospital room and stopped short.
She'd been recovering over the past week and a half—ever since she'd woken up. She'd been incredibly weak, too exhausted to talk or move out of her bed. She'd just lain there, tucked under the white sheets, her chest rising and falling steadily, watching Draco talk and update her on everything that had been going on.
But she'd never said a word or made a move to stand. Sometimes, she even drifted off to sleep, midway through his story, still holding his hand.
But now, Narcissa was standing by the window overlooking the hospital courtyard, dressed in the hospital gown, her hair streaked with more white than she'd had before she'd fallen.
She didn't turn as Draco entered but he knew she saw him in the reflection in the window.
"Mother," he said, a tone of surprise in his voice. "You're up."
Narcissa's shoulders were frail, her face haggard as she twisted her head to look at him. "I've been up since yesterday."
Draco blinked, his mind whirring. Yesterday? Hadn't he visited her yesterday?
The guilt hit him straight in the gut. No, he hadn't. He'd stayed at the safehouse after Elara had emerged from the meeting room, looking like she'd gone through hell and back. He'd only caught a glimpse of the room behind her as the door swung shut—and the cracks in the window and dents in the wall were evidence enough of how destructive her magic had been.
She hadn't said a word as she sidled past him, eyes downcast, her face pale and drawn. He'd wanted to reach for her—but he hadn't thought she was in the mood to deal with him in that moment. He deserved it, of course. He'd hurt her—but it didn't change the ache in his chest when she hadn't even looked at him.
"Where have you been?" His mother's voice jolted him out of his stupor. "You didn't visit yesterday."
Draco winced and took a few more steps into the room, the door shutting behind him with a click. "I'm sorry. I got busy."
"Busy where?" she inquired, swiveling to face him fully. Her arms crossed over her chest, the lines in her face taut.
Draco knew that face—had seen it many times as a child when he'd misbehaved.
He waved his hand, dismissively, trying to change the subject. "Unimportant. How are you feeling?"
"Weak," Narcissa responded, one hand reaching to rub her temple. "Exhausted. Where's my wand?"
"At Orion's," he answered, stopping by her bed. "I'll bring it for you tomorrow."
She heaved a sigh, looking back out the window, her eyes cloudy. Draco didn't like that look. Didn't like it at all.
"You'll feel better in a few days," he told her, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder. "You should still rest—"
"Where have you been, Draco?" Her tone was harsh, her face suddenly hard as she looked up at him. "Where were you yesterday?"
Draco's stomach twisted. "The Dark Lord—"
"Don't lie to me," Narcissa hissed, shrugging off his hand and when she turned to him this time, her gaze was blazing. "Don't you dare."
His heart began to race. "I'm not lying to you."
"Then where were you the day I fell?" Her voice was dangerously low. "You were supposed to call a Healer but you weren't even in the house."
"I know. Something unexpected came up with the Horcruxes and I was summoned."
Narcissa stared at him for a long moment, scrutinising him and then took the three steps to the bed, throwing herself onto the edge and burying her face in her hands. "Merlin, Draco. Do you think I'm daft?"
His mouth began to taste bitter as she looked back up at him suddenly, blue eyes cold. "Do you really think I'm not aware of what you've been doing?"
The floor seemed to slip out from under his feet but he kept his mask of indifference on his face, not yet willing to betray himself. "Mother, I have no idea—"
"Don't lie to me!" Her voice rose and Draco's jaw set. "I am your mother—"
"I'm well aware," he said, calmly.
She glared at him before getting to her feet. "Cast a Silencing Charm."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why? Is there something you want to talk about that other people shouldn't hear?"
Narcissa stepped forward, her face drawn. "Cast it."
Wordlessly, Draco obeyed, his pulse pounding in his ears. He hadn't seen Narcissa Malfoy look so furious since she'd found out what had happened to her husband.
He felt the weight of the Charm settle over the room and his mother did too because she said, "I know you're a traitor."
Every muscle in his body wanted to go rigid but he forced himself to stay relaxed, feigning an expression of confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
She stepped forward, her features eerily calm now. "You heard me, Draco."
He frowned, using Occlumency to shove away his panic. "I think you need to rest—"
"Don't act like I'm crazy," she hissed, coming to a stop in front of him. Despite the fact that she was much shorter than him—even shorter than Elara—Draco was the one who felt intimidated. "Don't you dare, Draco. I asked for you yesterday—I needed to see you. And where were you?" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "Helping the enemy."
He kept his tone cool as he answered, "You're not thinking straight."
Narcissa blinked and that fury swept over her face. In a flash, with surprising quickness, she'd crossed the room to the small nightstand next to the hospital bed and yanked open the drawer. It took her four seconds of frantic sifting through the things there before she snatched something up and whirled, flinging the small object at him.
Draco caught it with one hand on instinct.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" she demanded, voice strained. She gestured at what she'd thrown at him. "Did you think I didn't know?"
Heart racing, Draco unfurled his palm and stared down at the little object. It had once been silver—but it was now jet-black, the jewels glittering in the harsh light.
"You think I didn't see that on that stupid girl's finger when my sister was torturing her in our sitting room?" Narcissa spat, shaking her head. "You think I didn't recognise where it came from?"
Draco's throat had closed up as soon as he laid eyes on the snake-shaped ring lying in his hand. A moment of weakness—so long ago—when he'd given it to Elara.
"My own ring," his mother said, shaking her head once more. "You thought I wouldn't recognise my own damn ring." She waited for Draco to say something and when he didn't, she pushed on. "I went down to her cell after you left it. You think I didn't notice that either? You're lucky Bellatrix wasn't more suspicious when she found you down there. You're lucky I called her away before she noticed the ring. How could you be so stupid?"
Draco couldn't speak, couldn't form a single word. His entire frame had gone stiff, his eyes on his palm.
"I told you to give this to your wife," Narcissa went on, frustration woven throughout her voice. "And instead, you gave it to the enemy—"
"She wasn't the enemy when I gave it to her," Draco said, his voice surprisingly strong as he raised his eyes to his mother's. "She was just a girl."
"A girl who made you betray your own. A girl who basically handed you a death sentence because if the Dark Lord finds out—"
"She's trying to protect me," he hissed back, temper simmering. "She's the only one who doesn't see me as an asset—on both sides of this fucking war."
Narcissa recoiled, hurt flashing across her face. "How dare you! How dare you suggest—"
Draco's fist closed around the ring. "All you cared about was staying safe. You didn't care how much torture I was being put through—"
"I cared about you staying safe!"
"The Dark Lord nearly killed me last week! I would've died in a fucking alley if someone hadn't found me!"
"That should've been an incentive to stop helping the other side!" Narcissa shrieked. "You destroyed the Horcrux, didn't you? Did you think he wouldn't punish you for the loss of it?"
Draco stayed silent, fingers tightening around the ring.
"Of course he was going to be angry! You—"
"You're saying I deserved it?" Draco spat, his head reeling. "You're saying I deserved to bleed out in that fucking alley?"
"Of course not!" she shot back, angrily. "Of course not! But if you keep betraying him—"
"Might I remind you that he doesn't know he's being betrayed? He has no idea about what I'm doing and he's still torturing me," Draco hissed, unable to hide his fury. "He tortures me for fun. He calls it punishment but it's because he's a fucking—"
"Do not finish that sentence." She cast a worried look over her shoulder at the door, as if someone could be hovering outside.
"You had me cast a Silencing Charm, didn't you?" he said, bitterly. "No one is going to hear about how you didn't care about your son when he was—"
"Of course I cared!"
"Then why didn't you ever fucking do something?" His chest was heaving. "Why didn't you ever—ever—tell me that we had to run because you couldn't take what he was doing to me? Why did you always insist that what I was doing was the right thing? That staying was the only option?"
Her lips moved but no words came out for a moment. The knot in Draco's throat only grew.
"I was trying to protect you," she said finally, finding her voice. "I was trying to protect us."
"By letting me die nearly everytime he summoned me?" Draco shook his head, his breath stuttering.
"By making sure we were on the right side of this war," she retorted. "But instead, you gave it all up for a girl. And don't you even try to tell me it's not because of her. I know you well enough to know it's not because of your moral compass."
"So what if it is?" He felt like flinging the ring across the room, his fury filling the room. "So what if it fucking is because of her?"
Narcissa's eyes were suddenly filled with tears. "Do you not care about me? Do you not ever think of what the Dark Lord would do to me if you keep failing him? Or if he found out?"
"If we end him, we're all safe!"
"And if you don't?" she fired back, drawing her shoulders back to glare at him. "If you can't? Consider that he's the most powerful Dark Wizard the world has ever seen, Draco. Do you really think he won't find out?"
"I'm doing a fine job right now—"
"If you destroy another Horcrux, he will not be so naive."
"Don't make me choose!" It burst out of him before he'd even finished thinking it. Narcissa blinked, taken aback, and he said again, lower, "Don't make me choose between you and her."
She looked so bitter, it sent a dagger through his heart. "I'm not stupid enough to think there was even a choice. It's clear who you chose."
His walls were crumbling, his emotions so painful he felt he might collapse. "Mother, please. I want you to be safe—"
"Then this is not how you do it." Her voice was barely a whisper now and she suddenly looked broken. "Look me in the eye and tell me the Dark Lord never threatened my life whenever you failed."
It was suddenly impossible to speak—or breathe. Because Voldemort had threatened Narcissa's life.
She seemed to read it on his face because her smile was bitter and disappointed. "And it didn't deter you from purposely failing him, did it? Didn't stop you from continuing to betray him—even when he threatened me."
Draco's eyes burned, his chest tight. It hadn't. He'd been as determined to save Elara—despite it all. "Please," he said and his voice was hoarse. "Mother, I—"
"I'm not going to tell him," she said—and it was worse because she was so resigned, so disappointed in him. "I would never do anything to harm you—but I cannot believe you would do this to me."
He was moving forward, tucking the ring into his pocket and taking her hands in his, pleading with her. "It isn't like that. It's never going to be like that—"
"Then why is she more important?" Her hands were cold and thin in his grip. "Where did I fail as a mother that made you decide my life—and yours—wasn't as valuable as some girl's?"
Draco faltered, his gut forming a knot. "It's not—It's not about that—It's just—"
Just what? How could he even explain himself? She was right. He had failed her—as a son and a protector. He had dismissed the threat on her life because if he didn't, it meant Elara would get hurt. And somehow, he'd decided that meant more than to him than his mother. How could he even claim to be trying to protect Narcissa—when he hadn't even considered the possibility of not being a spy even after Voldemort had threatened her life?
A tear traced down her cheek as she looked at him—with so much pain, he knew he'd never forget it. "I know what it feels like to be in love, Draco—but I would never have chosen that over my blood."
His vision blurred. "I'm sorry. I—"
"And the fact that you're setting yourself up to be killed—as well as me..." Narcissa sniffed, her hands trembling in his. That mother's love shone plain on her face—but it was almost swallowed up by the disappointment, the rage, the bitterness. The terror that something would happen to him. "Lucius would be horrified."
"I never would've let anything happen to you," Draco said, desperately. "Never. I would've tried to kill the Dark Lord myself if he'd come for you. You know that. Everything I've done—I've done it for other people too but I've also done it for you. So we can live without having to look over our shoulders, so we can live without having to worry about whether I'd survive the next time he summoned me. So we can live in peace."
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head, trying to pull her hands out of his grasp. He held firm, silently begging for her to understand, to stop looking at him with such pure, raw pain on her face.
"Do you really think I could let anything happen to you?"
Narcissa let out a soft sob, eyes turning upwards to look at the ceiling as if she could reverse the direction of her tears. "Then where were you the day I fell, Draco? The day that I fainted and fell down the stairs. You'd promised to take me to the Healer, remember? Where were you then if you cared about me more than—more than her?"
Draco's heart cracked further and he drew in a long breath, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, nestling his cheek against the top of her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. It's the biggest mistake I've ever made and you have to believe me when I say that not a day goes by that I don't kick myself because of it."
She was shaking her head against his chest, her tears wetting the material of his shirt. "You're going to die. He's going to kill you. I already lost Lucius, Draco. Please—please—I beg you. Stop this."
Something cold and unbearably heavy settled on his shoulders.
"Draco, please." She pulled back to gaze up at him, her face wet, her eyes panicked. It broke him further. "Please. Don't go back. Never go back. Just—Just stay with Astoria and I. Do what the Dark Lord says and the war will be over. We'll be safe and everything will be fine. Please."
Horror crept up his throat as she sank to her knees in front of him, hands clasped together in a pleading gesture, her shoulders shaking with sobs, head bowed. "Please. Please. I beg you—"
Draco seized her shoulders and hauled her up, the first tear escaping his eye. "Don't—please don't—"
"I can't see you die. I won't—"
"Everything will be fine. Just calm dow—"
"However perfect you think she is, she's not worth it. She's not worth putting all our lives in danger. Even if the Dark Lord doesn't find out himself, you think Dolohov isn't suspicious of you? You think he doesn't suspect you're the one who rescued her from his dungeons?"
Draco had no response, his heart aching.
"Tell me you'll stop." She clutched at him suddenly and he'd never seen such pure desperation on her features. "Tell me you'll give it up and come back to us. Tell me you'll never betray him again, never put yourself in that kind of danger—"
"Would it help you if I lied?" His voice was hoarse. "Would it help you if I said all that—and still continued to do it?"
Hurt flashed on her face. "You won't even—You won't even consider it? You'd continue to do this—even after everything I've said?"
Draco lowered his head in apology. "There was never a choice for me." He looked back up at her, beseeching. "Not when it comes to her."
Narcissa's features morphed, her eyes clearing of tears. "I see. So it's her over me. A stupid, little girl over your own mother," she sneered. "Does she even love you? Does she even love you back?"
It was said as a jab—to hurt him—but he ignored it. "I'm not choosing anyone over anyone. I'm trying to help the both of you—"
"No. You're trying to help her." Her voice broke. "Not me, not Astoria and certainly not yourself."
The animosity with which she said it made Draco's eyes sting further. To see his own mother—so hateful and upset and disappointed—it made him want to claw his heart out so he could stop feeling the terrible emotions that came with it.
"I'm sorry," was all he said, his voice quiet. "I don't expect you to understand—although I wish you could."
"I know how it feels, Draco," she hissed. "I loved your father."
Draco shook his head, finally releasing her shoulders and letting his arms drop back to his sides. "Not the way I—" He swallowed hard, glanced away. "Not the same way I care about her." He gave her a sad smile. "I don't think anyone's ever cared for someone the way I care about her."
"You are ridiculous," she spat, eyes alight once more. "Absolutely ridiculous. You've got your head in the clouds and you don't even care about who you're harming on the ground. There's a line of women you can choose from, Draco. Dozens. They're all waiting for something to go wrong with you and Astoria—Merlin, does Astoria even know? You can have anybody you want—anybody. Forget about this girl. Let her go. I promise you won't regret it. Just let her go."
"You think I haven't tried?" he retaliated, a tremor in his fingers as he raked them through his hair. "You think I haven't fucking tried? I can't. I can't let her go, Mother. I wish I could, I swear—"
She turned away from him. "I cannot believe you, Draco Malfoy. I expected better. I thought you had a level head—not one ruled by something as fickle as infatuation—"
"It's been nearly five years. It's not an infatuation."
She scoffed. "So what, you'd marry her?" Her glare was piercing. "You'd marry her when all this was over?"
Draco hadn't planned on answering—but his answer escaped him with no hesitation. "Yes."
His mother's expression was one he'd only ever seen on his father's face. Pure shame.
"I am so ashamed of you," she said, quietly and her voice didn't waver, "for digging us both a grave."
"I'm trying not to," he pleaded, struck with the insane notion that the world was crumbling around him. "Mother, I—"
"Sometimes I wonder if what you saw as a child changed your opinion of me."
It felt like she had cleaved his soul in two. He'd always tried not to think about what he'd seen that night, the night he'd frozen in the doorway to her room while someone who was supposed to be their friend did what he did to her. Had tried not to think about the words on her lips as she'd sobbed for Draco when he'd crumpled on the floor by her bed, slipping into unconsciousness, his face bleeding where the man had slammed his elbow into it.
I love you, she'd cried, her face turned to him, the words a lifeline that Draco grasped onto as he tried to stay awake. I love you, I love you, I love you.
He'd never been able to say the words himself from that point onwards.
And now, here she was, thinking that that was why he was doing this. That seeing her so vulnerable had made him not love her anymore.
Draco's hands tightened on Narcissa's shoulders, another tear tracing down his cheek. "You are my mother." His voice wavered with his own emotion. "I am your son—"
"You are no son of mine."
The blow felt like someone had sliced a dagger down the length of his torso. His hands fell away from her on instinct as he stepped back, the words finding a space in his chest that hurt, that pained him to a degree he would never be able to explain.
Narcissa only turned her back to him and circled the bed, sitting on the edge of it so she didn't have to face him.
Draco couldn't think past the knife she'd thrust into his chest and only took a few unsteady steps towards the door, his ribcage seeming to collapsing in on itself.
The world was spinning—but he refused to show her how much she'd hurt him, how she might as well have wrapped him in chains and suffocated him.
"Draco."
Her voice stopped him in his tracks, his entire frame shaking with restraint—restraint from saying something he'd regret. His hand wrapped around the doorknob, his fingers trembling. He sent out a silent plea to her, begging her to take it back, to tell him she hadn't meant it. To tell him she loved him, that she always would, that he was her pride and joy, her only son.
But as soon as she spoke, he knew whatever sliver of hope he'd held out had been delusional.
"If I ever see her," Narcissa's voice was cold, "I will kill her."
Ice-cold rage slithered down his spine—a horrible feeling when directed at his mother. But he said, turning his head to look over his shoulder, eyes fixed on the floor, "Then I'll make sure you join her."
The door slammed shut behind him with a click so loud, it echoed in his ears.
|
The tremor hadn't left his hand as he raised his hand to knock on the oak door in front of him.
He'd wandered about the entire day. Had gone to Orion's and stared up at the house before turning and heading back down the street. Had meandered down a few blocks to Theo's house where he knew Astoria was staying too and had taken one look at the sitting room window, golden light spilling out from behind the curtains and the two shadows dancing through the room, music and laughter floating out.
He'd turned away and Apparated away from Paisley, feeling numb and cold and terrible. All he could hear in his mind was the endless loop of his mother's words, harsh and edged like a blade.
You are no son of mine.
His hand shook from where it had been poised to knock in the dim hallway and he dropped it, feeling his eyes burn. Instead, he only leaned his head against the door, forehead pressed into the wood and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stay afloat in his own mind. But each thought was like a fifteen foot wave, threatening to drag him underneath the surface and drown him.
He pushed off the door, heaving in a breath and turned to leave, his chest still unbearably tight—but the door opened at the exact same time and he swiveled back around.
Elara stared back at him from the doorway to her room, dressed in a small black tank top and black pajamas with little cherries on them. She'd pulled her hair back into a knot at the base of her neck, the shorter strands framing her face.
They looked at each other for a moment before Draco managed to force himself to speak.
"I'm sorry," he said, sounding choked up. "I was just leaving."
Elara's eyebrows furrowed, dark eyes skating over his face. "I..." She shook her head, peering closer at him. "Are you alright?"
"Fine." It came out like a gasp—like he couldn't breathe. It definitely felt like he couldn't. "I just—"
He cut himself off, instead bracing one arm against the doorframe and letting his head tilt to rest on it, eyes falling shut as he exhaled a long breath.
Elara waited, patiently and he could feel her eyes running over him, reading him like an open book.
There was no use hiding anything from her. She'd always known him inside out anyway.
"Can I—" His voice broke and he tried again, opening his eyes and fixing her with a tired look, keeping his head tilted against the doorframe. "Can I come in?"
He knew it was a long shot. He'd hurt her and hadn't worked up the courage to apologise for it yet. It would only make sense if she turned him away, to yell at him or scold him or say something that would cut deep and leave him to bleed—
Elara stepped aside, widening the gap and paused, eyes fixed on his, waiting for him. He nearly collapsed in relief as he pushed off the doorframe and moved into the room, feeling like he could pass out or hurl his guts up any second.
Of course she would let him in. When would Elara Jacobs ever turn away someone who needed her?
And Draco was pretty sure even the the ground beneath his feet knew how much he needed her.
The door shut with a soft click but Draco didn't move from where he stood, one hand wrapped around the bedpost, his head bent. His eyes stung as he stared at the floor, still unable to hear anything but Narcissa's words in his head, repeating with such force his knees nearly buckled.
Elara's guiding hand on his back led him to the bed and then slid to rest on his shoulder, forcing him to sit on the edge of it.
The soft surface was a welcome support and he dropped his head into his hands, resting his elbows on his knees and releasing a shaky exhale as Elara moved to sit onto the armchair, her gaze still on him.
"I didn't mean to—" Draco stopped and tried again, swallowing hard, not brave enough to lift his head and look at her. "I shouldn't be here, I just—"
She stayed quiet, the only sounds the light drizzling rain outside and an occasional owl.
Draco breathed in and then out and finally raised his head. "I just didn't know where else to go."
Elara pulled her legs underneath her so she was sitting cross-legged, her fingers tracing the snake tattoo wrapping around her finger. Draco's heart sank at the sight of it—at the reminder of the ring that still sat in his pocket, heavy and damning.
His mother had taken it off Elara the night she'd been captured. She'd done it to save her son—had made sure no one would find out he'd given away a family heirloom and potentially cared about the girl they were torturing in their dungeon. Narcissa had done it to save him—and he'd only let her down.
With a frustrated shake of his head, Draco released a long breath and pushed his hands through his hair, tugging briefly on the ends. "It's just—It's all so fucked up." He dropped his head back into his hands. "Whatever I do, I can't fucking win."
His entire body wanted to sink into the bed and let himself be consumed by the emotions swirling in his brain. Wanted to give up—just for one night.
"I've been doing this for five fucking years," he went on, hoarsely. "Five fucking years and I've never had a break, never had a moment to—to breathe. I feel like I'm—I feel like I'm fucking drowning and I can't find my—I can't find my way back to the fucking surface and it's fucking killing me."
He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a tear fall onto the material of his trousers. "I don't even need gratitude. I don't fucking want it. In fact, I'd probably slit Potter's throat if he so much as thanked me. I just need—" He forced in a sharp breath. "I just need a break. I need this all to stop for a second so I can breathe, so I can figure out where I go from here. My mother—"
His voice broke and he cursed under his breath, digging his fingers into his scalp. "My mother, she—she fucking knows. She's known this entire time—that I'm a traitor. I don't know why she never mentioned it before. I don't—She asked me to stop. She said—" The words died in his throat. "She said she was ashamed and disappointed and that—" Another trembling inhale. "That she didn't consider me her son any longer."
Elara said nothing but a low rumble of thunder reverberated outside.
"Orion won't even let me in his house." He let out a dry laugh. "I can't even blame him. I deserve it."
Elara said, quietly but with no malice, "You did."
Draco glanced back up at her, well-aware his eyes were probably lined with red. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd turned me away at the door. I still wouldn't blame you if you kicked me out right now."
Her face was solemn, not a hint of a smile. She pushed out of the armchair, advancing towards him with light footsteps and his heart jumped into his throat as she came to a stop in front of him and reached out a hand.
Brushed a tear from his cheekbone and let her hand rest there, her gaze open and firm. "I don't forgive you," she said, softly as the warmth from her hand spread throughout his cheek. "But that doesn't mean I'll let you go through this alone."
His breath caught in his lungs and he shook his head, moving it away from her touch. "I don't deserve that." He looked up at her with much difficulty. "I don't deserve you."
She surveyed him with those eyes that made him feel like the ground had dissolved underneath his feet whenever he looked into them.
"I think," she said at last, fingers moving to his throat to unclasp his cloak, "that the fact that we both think we don't deserve each other probably proves the opposite."
She balled up his cloak and turned to toss it onto the armchair before turning back and resting a hand on his shoulder, her thumb drawing circles.
"I hurt you," he said, his voice wavering as he gazed up at her, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her and press his cheek against her stomach.
"I hurt you too," she said, gently. "After Iris died. When I told you I didn't want you."
He blinked. "That's not the same. You were grieving—"
"I'm not saying I forgive you," she said again, a little more forceful. "I'm just saying you can take a break for tonight."
He slid his fingers through his hair again as she continued, "Do you want me to start a bath? It might help you relax."
Draco shook his head immediately. He didn't think he could bear being alone for even a few minutes right now.
Her gaze softened. "You should rest."
Here? he wanted to ask but fear of receiving a negative answer made him hold his tongue. With you?
Elara answered his question a moment later as she dropped her hand and examined him for a long moment, one in which he felt she was scrutinising every detail of him. Then, she moved to sit higher up on the bed, against the pillows and held out a hand to him.
"You don't have to—"
"Draco." Her voice was firm. "You need to rest."
He hesitated but kicked off his shoes and met her eyes once more, giving her time to take back her offer.
She didn't, freckles illuminated by the moonlight, looking like some sort of goddess and he tucked the memory away somewhere deep in his chest—for times when he felt like giving up again.
So Draco slid his hand into Elara's and she pulled him to her, guiding his head down so it rested against her stomach. His breath hitched as he draped a tentative arm over her, unsure.
But when she dragged her fingers through his hair, soft and comforting, his eyes fell shut and his weight sunk down onto her, his arm settling firm across her. A gentle breath escaped his lips as she lifted her other hand to rest on his arm covering her, that heavy weight finally lightening on his shoulders.
The world seemed to slow around them, time stretching out before them and he knew it was just an illusion but it felt like they could waste away the rest of their lives in her together. With her fingers stroking through his hair, his cheek pressed to the soft material of her black tank top, his arm thrown over her. She fit so nicely in his arms—like her body remembered him, molded to his like she was made for him.
He supposed she was.
"Is silver really your favourite colour?" he asked after a while when his heart had stopped pounding, his nerves settling.
She let out a soft laugh, pausing to trace her fingertips over the shell of his ear. The touch sent shivers dancing down his spine. "Did you think I was lying?"
He made a small movement that could've been a shrug, reminding himself to breathe as her gentle fingers moved through the strands of his hair. "I was dying. I assumed it was something you said to keep me awake."
Her movements faltered for a second and then her hand was sliding down from his hair, finding his chin and nudging it up so his head tilted back. Her eyes met his and Draco's lungs fought for breath as the dark amber in them seemed to swirl, drawing him in.
They flicked between his own, thoughtfully, and Draco wondered how he'd never realised how the moonlight made them look almost golden.
"No," Elara finally said, so quiet. "Still my favourite colour."
Her hand left his chin, moving back into his hair and his head nestled back against her sternum, feeling it rise and fall beneath him. His eyes burned again—but for an entirely different reason. The realisation that no matter what he did, even if he spent every second of the rest of his life trying to make it up to her, he would never be deserving of the woman with him right now.
Never.
Elara must have felt the breath he sucked in because she made a soft, soothing sound, smoothing down his hair. "You know what colour I hate?"
Draco couldn't think past the way his mind seemed to have lost any semblance of rationality and coherent thought, only consumed by raw pain that chafed at his insides.
"Purple," she went on. "I hate it. I'm not talking about lilac—I like lilac. But like that deep royal purple that you see on drapes in pretentious people's houses—why do they do that? It's such a snobby colour. If I walk into a room and see purple curtains, I'd turn and walk right out. It just makes no sense. Purple. Who even came up with it anyway?" She snorted, nails dragging lightly across his scalp, sending electricity through his body. "It shouldn't even be considered a colour. It's like—blue but not quite, you know? I personally think it's ridiculous."
Draco choked out a half-hearted laugh, her monologue making his chest ease just that slightest bit.
She tapped his cheek, lightly. "What?"
"We have purple drapes," he said, swallowing down the knot in his throat.
He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Then I guess I'm never visiting your house then."
He breathed in lavender and honey almond and felt something ease in his chest. "I wouldn't take you there."
"Why not?" She sounded offended. "That's impolite. You're never going to invite me over for tea?"
What a ridiculous conversation, he thought because they both knew they didn't have the time or the luxury of having tea. But he entertained her, shifting his arm so he could trace one of the cherries on her pajama pants. "Is tea at a manor really your thing? I picture you as more of a 'sit on the roof and picnic' type of woman."
Her smile was evident in her voice. "Oh? And would you do that for me? Take me to the roof for a picnic?"
When he lifted his head and looked at her, her hand pausing in his hair, the smile slid off her features at the solemnity in his gaze. "I wish I wasn't in this mess," he told her, quietly. "I don't want to drag you down with me."
Her breathing faltered. "Has it ever occurred to you that I know what I'm getting myself into?" She paused, eyes searching his face. "Everytime you think I do something stupid, it's not just me running headfirst into danger. I know the cost, I know the millions of ways it could go wrong. But if it's worth the risk—" His mind flashed back to the night she'd found him in the alleyway. "—then I'll do it anyway."
Draco's throat bobbed. "I hate that," he whispered, sliding one hand up her bare arm, watching as she shivered underneath his touch. "I hate that about you so fucking much."
"I know," she responded. "But if you think that's going to make me change, you're mistaken."
He sighed, dropping his forehead so that it pressed against her ribs. "I don't want you to change," he murmured. "Even with your insufferable need to always be right and your stubbornness and your temper and your rash decisions—I'd never ask you to change."
Her fingers coasted through the back of his hair and his eyes fluttered shut again. They stayed like that in silence, her comforting movements the only thing anchoring Draco to reality.
It had been so long since he'd felt her like this. Warm and soft and real, her breathing steady and gentle. He soaked every inch of it in, every exhale, every slide of her fingers through his hair, every whiff of lavender.
Five years without this. Five years—and the yearning for her had never ended. He didn't think there was even a day that had passed that he hadn't thought about her since the night Dumbledore had died. When he'd lost her—when she'd disappeared from Malfoy Manor the night after she'd been captured—something had flicked a switch within him.
Suddenly, he'd gone from a nineteen year old boy who let people use him as a pawn to a man who'd learned how to be the best at the game.
And since then, he'd been playing. Advancing, retreating, using every single piece he had in his command, risking torture and death and worse—all for her. He hadn't ever second guessed himself, had never thought maybe he should give it up—not even when two years had passed by and he still hadn't been able to find her.
There had been only one end for him—and it was her. If his destination wasn't her, he would never stop. Never stop fighting, never stop looking, never stop scouring every inch of the fucking world if he had to. And now he'd found her and he was back in her arms, memorising the way she breathed.
And he'd be damned if he let her go again.
Draco raised his head and disentangled himself from her, gently. Her face fell—but then he moved up the bed, coming to lie beside her on his side.
Her head turned to look at him as he did so, her eyes searching, but he only propped his head up onto his fist, letting his other hand drift to touch her chin.
"I never would've done it," he murmured, swiping his thumb against her soft skin. Her lips parted. "I never would've locked you up."
Her eyes shuttered and she sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't want to talk about this."
His heart sank but he dropped his hand away and gave a small nod. "I'm sorry. It was an arsehole move and—and I wish I'd never said it. I don't expect you to forgive me—"
She cut him off by rolling onto her side so she was fully facing him and fixing him with a glare that was more endearing than anything else. "I said I don't want to talk about it. Now can we drop it or are you going to keep me up all night with your rambling?"
He wanted to make a snarky remark—but couldn't even think of one as she reached out a hand to lay it on his cheek with surprising tenderness, although there was still a frown on her features.
"You should sleep," she told him, her palm soft and smooth against his skin.
Instead, he said, "I don't think I can go back."
Elara's eyes widened a fraction, her frown easing as he went on, his voice shaking, "I don't think I can go back because I—I can't face my mother. I can't look at her and know she knows. I can't look at her and know she lived with the knowledge that I was lying to her this entire time. Can't look at her and know she thinks I don't—I don't care about her—" He drew in a much needed breath, feeling her hand slide to rest on the side of his neck, thumb sweeping comforting circles. "But most of all, I'm terrified of looking at her and seeing her no longer consider me her son."
Elara's eyes flicked between his as his vision blurred and he released a long, frustrated exhale, turning onto his back to stare at the ceiling.
"She's been through so much," he said, quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, his eyes shut. "After she lost my father, I was the only person she had left and I—" He couldn't finish the sentence and swallowed hard.
"What happened to your father?" Elara inquired, gently after a moment's silence.
And something in her tone told him she already had an idea.
"He's not here anymore," was all he said, not wanting to delve deeper.
She was silent for a long time, although he could feel her eyes on the side of his face as he stared up at the ceiling, trying not to remember the raw pain and shame on his mother's face.
"Why don't you do it?" Her voice was so quiet when she finally spoke, curious and tentative. "Why don't you just—stay with her? Fight on Voldemort's side. Keep her safe and happy—and you won't have to get tortured either—"
Draco turned his head to look at her, eyebrows raised. "Are you fucking serious?"
She shrugged in response, propping her head up on her fist and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, eyes fixed on the bedcovers. "I mean, if you stopped failing him, he'd stop, right? Torturing you?"
Draco said nothing.
"Would he?" she pressed, eyes sliding to his. "Because if he did, you could go back and both you and your mother would be safe—"
"If you think I'm going to do that, you're delusional."
She sent him a glare. "Why not? It's the best way out of this. You wouldn't have all this pressure on your shoulders, you wouldn't be bleeding out everytime he summons you, your mother wouldn't—"
"I'm not doing it."
"But you'd be safe." And that tone in her voice—it reminded him alot of his own when he'd begged her to take the Vow five days ago in Orion's library.
"This has never been about me being safe," he responded, wearily. "If I die, I die. As long as we win this war and Voldemort dies—"
"No." She sounded so fierce that he glanced at her in mild surprise. "I don't care about the war. I don't care about Voldemort." She fixed him with those dark eyes, determined and swimming with emotion.
He could hear the unspoken meaning behind her words. I don't care about the war. I care about you.
And although that terrified him, although it made him want to distance himself from her as soon as possible, he was too far gone to turn back now.
So he rolled back onto his side, one hand moving to rest on her hip but she didn't so much as glance down. Kept her eyes on his, willing him to see.
His thumb swept over the small expanse of skin between the waistband of her pajamas and the hem of her tank top. "Do you know how you got that?"
He nodded to the tattoo wrapping around her index finger on the hand that rested on the covers between them.
She shook her head, confusion flickering on her face and Draco shut his eyes, steadying himself. Her hand on his neck moved to stroke through his hair—as if sensing the mangled mess he'd become in the last few hours.
"I'm here," she whispered and he hated how she always was. Hated how her heart was a gift he didn't deserve, a privilege he'd never earned.
She was so unafraid of loving—of giving herself to him. So unafraid that even after everything he'd done, she still placed her heart in his hands and trusted him to keep it safe. Even when she was angry at him—even when she hadn't forgiven him—she saw him drowning and dove right down with him to pull him back to the surface.
That was true strength, he thought. To be broken and still find the courage to keep loving, to keep opening your heart for people.
To help them find home within you—even when someone else had burned the walls down the last time you let them in.
"My mother was raped." It fell from his lips and he felt her sharp inhale. "When I was ten—"
"I know."
His eyes snapped open but she only smoothed his hair back once more, looking solemn. "What?"
"I know," she repeated, patiently. "I remember you told me—at the Ritz."
Something bloomed in his chest but he couldn't identify what. "You...You remember?"
Elara nodded once, eyes glazing over slightly. "It's fuzzy—most are now. The flashbacks, I mean. Before—they used to be a lot more vivid. It feels like they're fading."
His stomach dropped, his chest twisting—but she didn't seem the least bothered by it and only rubbed the pad of her thumb across his cheekbone. "I remember," she said, quietly, eyes following the movement. "I remember you and I on that balcony. I remember what you told me and I—" Pink began to creep up her neck. "And I remember what we did."
Draco's own mind flashed back to everything they'd done that night. The dinner they'd eaten, the way he'd devoured her next. The untimely appearance of the apple pie—a mortification Elara hadn't been able to live down for days afterwards.
"You were telling me something." She suddenly sounded flustered, her hand dropping from his face.
He caught it and brought it back, unable to get enough of her presence, of her touch.
Her eyes softened, the barest of smiles gracing her lips—and he hated how it faded as he spoke.
"She used to wear a ring," he said after he'd found the strength to talk. "But after it happened, she couldn't bear to even look at it."
A crease appeared between Elara's eyebrows but she didn't speak, only watched him as he went on.
"It was a family heirloom," he explained, slowly. "From her side of the family. I already had the counterpart—I don't wear it anymore because I—"
He stopped short, the words clogging up his throat. Because everytime I look at it, all I see is you on top of the Astronomy Tower, so kind and forgiving and unaware of how I was using you.
"I just don't wear it." He cleared his throat. "But my mother gave hers to me and told me—" Told me to give it to my wife. "Told me to keep it safe."
"What did it look like?" she asked, curiously, brushing a piece of lint off his shoulder.
He breathed in deeply, trying to reorient himself, trying to steel himself and keep his hand steady as he reached into his pocket. Pulled out the ring and held it up between them, black jewels glittering.
He heard Elara's breath catch, saw her eyes widen as she took in the snake.
Draco watched her, recognising that look on her face—the one she always had when she was putting things together.
Three, he counted silently. Two. One—
Her eyes dropped to her finger, to the snake tattoo wrapping around it and he knew she'd figured it out.
"You gave it to me," she breathed, in awe, still focused on her finger.
He nodded. "When you cast the spell that took out the Death Eaters, you were supposed to die. You were supposed to die because no one could absorb that much Dark Magic and stay alive. Not even Voldemort."
Her attention snapped back to him, her chest rising and falling faster.
"But this ring," he continued, his voice low, "absorbed some of it for you. It's the only reason you weren't killed that night."
Elars stared at him, blinking a couple times as she sifted through the information he'd given her. Then, softly, she said, "Oh."
"My mother—" His voice broke and for a moment, he had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop them from burning.
Elara's hands slid to cup his face, her touch so gentle he wanted to sink into it forever. "I'm here," was all she said, soothing and soft. "Breathe."
Draco pressed his cheek into the pillow, shaking his head, trying to Occlude enough to at least shelve away his emotions, if not the memory of his mother's heartbroken expression. "I—I'm—I can't—"
She hushed him, pushing her hand through his hair, stroking along the back of it. "I'm here. I'm here."
It was a couple of minutes before he could find it in him to speak again, his mind still racing, his heart aching. "She recognised the ring when you were captured." He didn't open his eyes, kept them shut as Elara's fingers brought comfort to him just by grazing over his cheek, running between the strands of his hair, rubbing circles along the back of his shoulder.
"And she took it off me," she finished, quietly.
He might have nodded but he couldn't really register anything at that point. He hated to think of Narcissa—but it was the only thing repeating in his mind.
All those times that he'd worried himself sick over her, that he'd sat by her bedside and nursed her back to health. How many wards he'd put up around the manor and then his mother's room. How many times he'd urged her to come stay in his wing of the house so he could be nearer to her in case she needed anything. And yet, she'd said, "You are no son of mine."
It was funny, he thought. That he'd been through unimaginable torture and pain at the hands of curses and daggers—but this hurt the most. That knowing Narcissa Malfoy didn't want him as a son was his breaking point.
When a tear traced down his cheek, his eyes still closed, brows furrowed, Elara was the one who wiped it away and shifted closer to him, tucking herself against his chest, her small frame dwarfed by his large one.
Still, Draco buried his face in her hair and she sighed against his throat, her breath warm on his skin.
"Sleep," she murmured, her nose grazing the column of his neck.
Draco's shoulders quivered—but she hushed him with soothing sounds on her tongue, placing a gentle kiss against his jaw.
"I'll be here," she told him, gently, firmly. "I'll be here when you wake up."
Draco could feel the exhaustion imprinted into his bones, could feel the way his eyelids had grown heavy over the past few minutes. Could feel how his body was aching to shut down, to rest, to sleep—with her next to him, with her against his chest.
But he didn't want to let go of her just yet—didn't want to let go of this night just yet because when he awoke in the morning, he'd be back to being the spy, the traitor, the shunned son of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.
He didn't want to wake up to find Elara was back to ignoring him for how he'd hurt her, didn't want to not be able to do this again tomorrow night. To hold her and inhale lavender and honey almond and feel her soft curls against his skin. To feel the way her body curved into his, melding into him like she was his.
The tears that slid off his face wet her hair but she didn't seem to mind, only whispered soft words of comfort against his freezing skin. Only braced one hand into his hair, holding his head to her, warm and real and steady.
"Rest," she said. "You deserve it."
"I'm here," she said when his chest heaved for breath, his cheeks wet. "I'm not going anywhere."
And when Draco finally dropped off to sleep, it was with the knowledge that he was finally home.
———
i cannot decide if i like this chapter or not lmao. thank u for being patient!! i hope a 9k chappie makes up for it.
also follow my insta if you haven't already!! nyx.malfoy
vote!! or emma will steal away the elara to ur draco
kisses, always,
nyx