The weeks merged into each other, the days effortlessly slipping by one another. Draco spent as much time with her until he's drawn away by work. And she keeps herself busy mindlessly going through the stacks of books he has left for her in his absence. She so calmly hides the fear-ridden behind her eyes as he apparates away each morning for missions.
His eyes remain a solid silver refusing to soften at the lightest. But when his eyes gaze upon her figure, like he does every morning before he leaves- she promises herself it's a mask. He's drawn a shield that has overlapped the person she has grown close to.
She refuses to allow him see just how weak she is becoming. And at times, it's harder to decipher the affliction of emotions he brings forth.
His mask never falls- Never showing any sign of vulnerability. Not even at the slightest, even when he slides in and out of her every night. But she should have known. Because he's Draco Malfoy, and she is Esme Smith. And together, they are the most opposing forces divided into one. She knows he's poison sweeping in her veins, but this time, for once, she's decided not to fight it. Instead, she lets the sinful feeling spread through her.
She knows he cares, but he will never trust her enough to let his complete guard down. And then she wonders who did this to him. Her mind wanders back and forth across the idea, dancing on it, each twirl like a ballerina finding meaning among completion. Or maybe it's the utter satisfaction she will feel when he drops to her mercy. That is something she isn't keen on thinking about. Because she's already openly accepted to herself that she feels for him. That the thing going on between the two of them was something that was expected to happen. There was no stopping it; it ought to occur.
But she notices each time his eyes melt into her brown ones the tenderness he allows to seep through his cracks. It's because he will enable it for a brief second that she's begun to cherish it. Inspect it, and each time his lips find hers, there is no longer a continued hesitation. Just like her, he lets it happen. And now, in a small moment, she finds herself waiting to see when he will show her who he really is.
At times her stomach clenches, and it rarely occurs- only when he's away. She sits staring up at the grey clouds, the sun falling over the horizon, the faint breeze and waft of earth erupts into her senses. As her eyes lock onto the waves crashing against the shore, the saltiness drifts up, sending wrath of familiarity through her, and it's almost comforting. It's violent but physically beautiful. She watches the birds fly over her head in arranged placement, and the entirety of the world around her slips away as she becomes one with the peace of nature battling amongst her own thoughts. It's when she's been sucked up in her own world, she takes the time pondering if her waiting is a reflection of an actual prolonging- And if she ever actually wants to know who Draco Malfoy really is.
It's odd and exhilarating all at once, and perhaps it's because, in those moments, she knows she gets him. And that seems to suffice for the time being. They are bound by the pieces in their soul- moulding the broken fragments that longed for a source of light. They were reflections of each other.
Light met darkness, colliding as one. But this time, it was essential. It was a powerful force that refused to allow too much time between them to pass by. They were a separation of the most beautiful colours—illuminating life as a whole.
Esme curls up in a ball on Draco's sofa. A black blanket is draped over her frame, sending warmth as his room remains chilly as ever. Despite the warmth from the sunny day, his room withholds from allowing the everlasting sensation of heat inside. Almost wrapping it against the corners, barricading it before it gets too close.
But then she wonders. Hot and cold, and the destruction it brings to each other. Her thoughts bend, searching for answers and wondering if they were merged as one- becoming allies of each other. She then realizes she's being extra, that the air in the room has nothing to do with her life.
It's a distraction to keep away her endless thoughts about him. A sort of hope that there will be a conclusion, and each question will match a specified answer. Because that's what it was supposed to be. Everything was supposed to make sense, but now she is unsure. Unsure of the meanings she has created for herself, she can't decipher it because of him.
He's wind, knocking her over, and the moment she stands, a new perception is built. It's horrifying, but her curiosity sparks effortlessly. But then she snaps back to reality once again. It's a distraction. She wishes for him to come back, but as he remains away at work, she knows she must divert her attention. Or else she will go mad worrying- and that seems much worse.
Esme sighs, her hands rushing through her curly locks, allowing the quiet from the room to enroll her in the sense of peace. She doesn't know if it will help. The silence holds tranquillity that is entitling her as one. There's no longer a haunting revelation from the stillness of it all. She had been searching for balance, and now she's found it.
Her eyes gradually skim along with the novel she has engrossed herself in. It's been a day. One day, exactly twenty-four hours, and she has grown extra fidgety while Draco was called away. It's been her fifth time re-reading the same novel- and everything is a diversion. The book reminds her of him, and it's a sense of safety. And so she reads it over and over. Ignoring the strain in her eyes and the blankness in her brain. It usually occurs effortlessly; her mind slips into the mystery of the novel she delves into.
However, this time is different. Esme thoughts rise and fall about him.
If he is okay
If he will come back.
She knows Draco is a grown man and is fully capable of taking care of himself, but there's still an uncertainty unravelled deep inside that keeps pushing, sending her into a state of anxiousness.
She notices he's fixed the novel's spine, a small detail that makes her lips twitch up in a slight smile. She remembers how bent the pages were, the spine on the verge of falling apart. She can strictly recall the way she grumbled to him and how he bit his lip, holding back his chuckles as he examined her and went on and on about the care that should be taken into bookkeeping.
The pages are now pristine, giving off the scent of fresh paper. The aroma of coffee fills Esme senses as she sighs again. This time it's a strangled sort of breath. As if the air is letting her decide just how long she should hold it in until it's ready to be released. It's captivating in a way, the way she can control it. Her eyes fight the urge to read the Daily Prophet. Again.
His face flashes in the headline against the black and white as the photographer catches his arrogant smirk at the perfect moment; she continues to wonder if he plans this.
There is an unreadable expression painted across his stone-cold features, and it's unfamiliar. It causes her heart to drop into her stomach. Because the man in the picture is most definitely not the man that holds her possessively against his body each night.
Esme tries to alter the conclusions. As if she knows him, and the world he presents himself to is a complete facade- A blank illusion. She's known him long enough that he's creative in that way. Intelligent to fool the eye of the rest of the wizarding world- but not her. There's crimson blood on his clothes, and it's almost like she can smell it. The wretched metallic scent floods her senses, and she has to blink a couple of times until it fades away.
The rest of his clothes are dirty, ripped and torn. He remains in all black, his silver eyes unrevealing any emotion. He holds it together- and she can see. It's harder to take her eyes off him when he's been captured so magnificently. It's the way he holds his posture, and she is sure it's a facade. She knows his missions have been rough and dangerous, and her eyes stink with tears.
Esme flips the newspaper over so that it no longer shows the flawless image of a ragged looking Draco Malfoy. Instead, to keep herself distracted, she hums, standing up. Her mouth emits a melody, drifting into her ears. Her feet travel across the wooden floorboards of his room, approaching his bookshelf. Her fingers trace against all the new spine's he's replaced, eyes wandering across the various novels he has changed for her. Her head turns towards the clock, and it's seven.
Draco should be coming soon. And her palms start sweating, her heart pounds in her chest, and her stomach is empty. She feels light on the edge, and her ears ring in warning to keep herself calm. To remember to breathe. Because he will come back, he always does. But then her mind flashes back to the picture of him from his previous mission, and she has a gut-wrenching feeling, her insides twist awkwardly, and she feels like she's going to collapse.
The way her body is leaning against the tables initiates another distraction. Suddenly her eyes close, and she can feel him planting soft kisses along her neck. She imagines his mouth trailing up towards her cheek as his one hand digs into the flesh of her hips, squeezing slightly as the other hand wraps around her throat gently, turning her head to face his stare. But that's all it is. It's an intrusion of the mind, and when she reopens her eyes, he's not there.
She is alone- waiting. It's strange in a way how her patience has diminished and dropped the ground. In the cell, she had it all, but then again, she had nothing to look forward to. Now she does- but it's causing more stress. Esme remembers the promise he made her utter, making her swear to stay in his room. Then again, it was something he did every time he left.
She pictures the shallowness of his eyes and feels herself sinking deep. Because the emotions were always hidden around the edges, the centre of his hues full of anguish. It's by this point she decides she is going mad. The thoughts have sucked her persona up, and it's tearing her apart. As much as she wants to relax. To allow the bones in her body to sink down, they refuse to. Not until she knows he is safe, then maybe it will feel like the air is easier to breathe again.
Just then, her eyes land on a novel she's never read before. The spine of this unfamiliar piece has indented runes carved into it. It's a dark brown, and she can see the dust picked from a safe distance. The outline of the ruins takes the place of something beyond her knowledge.
Esme curiosity gets the best of her, but just before she's about to pull it out from the shelf, the signal of apparition catches her attention. For an odd reason, her heart begins pounding in her chest, and her blood passes through each vessel, lighting her up one after the other.
Her hands remain frozen in place, unmoving, but she can see the slight tremble in her fingertips. It feels like she's been caught. She hears Draco's footsteps gracefully march across the floor. He's behind her, and she can sense his figure emitting the peppermint and slight cigar scent she's grown to admire. Her hands drop back to her side, and her mouth feels dry. Unlike moments ago. She gulps, twisting around as her eyes land on him. And that's all it takes to snap her out of a dazed dream. Because it's no longer a dream. He's come home, and he's standing in front of her.
The frightening feeling from a moment's ago washes away as his arms find her waist pulling her in. Her head rests upon his chest as she breathes him in . A euphoric rush of energy bottling up in the air surrounding the two. She pulls away, and instinctively her head reaches out to cup his cheek- as she stares into his silver eyes.
"Are you okay?"
His lips turn upwards as he sends her a soft smile, "I am now."
Her eyebrows scrunch together, and she sends him a glare, "Did anything happen to you?"
The smile on his lips drop, and he presses a kiss to her forehead, "No. I'm fine."
Her following words tumble out of her mouth, and she can't help but be a bit intrusive- desperate for answers. "What happened while you were away."
His voice is clipped. "Nothing."
Her eyes narrow at him. He's lying.
Draco's tongue rolls in her mouth as he takes a step back; instead of keeping eye contact with her, he's looking beyond her figure, peering at the novel she was keen on discovering before he arrived. She notices the change in his persona; it sweeps through his features as they grow tight. His body turns stiff, and it's almost as if she is staring at a sculpture. The rage is falling from his body in large wavelengths, and she doesn't know what's made him so upset.
"You have to attend dinner with Dolohov and me tonight. I'm afraid I can't get you out of this one. He's becoming suspicious of your whereabouts.".
Fear floods through her body, and he can see it as she watches him panic-stricken. Her fingers twitch at her side before shaking violently.
The sound of Dolohov's name repeatedly rings in her ears. It's a warning- because each time she hears it, something is missing. A broken, shattered piece left in the emptiness of her skull- and it will never be fulfilled. It's empty. The air in the room becomes harder to breathe, even with Draco standing only a couple feet away from her.
Her throat closes up, resisting the saliva she's continuously trying to swallow to get rid of the dryness. Draco's face remains the same- in place. It's a disguise, but his eyes are strained with guilt because he feels hopeless that he can't do anything this time. She refuses to faint and let her lightheadedness get the best- like it always does. Because now she needs to be strong. For him, she tells herself. And it turns into a mantra.
"Okay."
His wand moves in the air, transfiguring her clothes, but she can't feel it. Can't see it. Her insides are modelled into a rigid structure, and she can barely move her bones from how tense she's become. She thought it wouldn't be like this. That his return would allow for her to unwind. For her bones to melt under the influence of his arms.
His hold being a tender form of security and reassurance. Instead, he's being distant, keeping a far distance away from her as she's locked in a horrifying reality. She's isolated from knowing what's bothering him, and it drives her to the brink of exhaustion. They were supposed to communicate, talk to each other.
Draco takes a step forward, and her eyes follow his movement hesitantly. "Are you alright?"
Her mouth opens, and she wants to say no, but with the weariness in her eyes, she doesn't want to disappoint him. "Of course. I'm glad you're back."
He merely hums in response, pulling her back into his arms.
She smiles, pressing a kiss to his clothed chest. "I missed you."
His lips have meshed in her hair, and he mumbles quietly that the sound of his voice could only ever be heard in her ears., "As did I."
She can feel his signature smirk against her hair, and her heart swells. Her head is lifted from his chest as his finger's push back a couple strands of hair behind her ears. The tenderness of this simple movement is calming. A ghost of his hand drifts across her face, caressing the skin by her cheek. Goosebumps rise on her flesh from the coolness of his skin on hers. His expression is sullen, but it doesn't stop the passion burning in his eyes.
Draco's lips drop down to hers, and he's kissing her passionately. This is what she relishes. The infatuation behind the way his mouth moves against her's. That each time she gasps for a breath, his mouth finds her again; there's something rare. It's never a corresponding touch. No. It's a new flame added to the same fire, and it sends waves of desire deep down inside of her. It's an addiction that will never be fixed. No matter how much time it takes- the cycle is broken. He's ruined her.
When they pull away, both breathless, his hand slips into her, squeezing in encouragement. Her hues meet his, and all have fallen back into place. The man in the newspapers is the man tightening his grip on her hand. His walls are up, which was only going to make the dinner harder.His eyes are sharp, deadly even. Hard as ice, and his features have been sculpted effortlessly. In front of her is a sinful desire.
As a child, she always used to differentiate good and evil, light and darkness. But now, her outlooks have fallen, deteriorating into the ground. They've lost meaning because she's now settled that light feeds upon dark.
There is never one without the other. If he adds venom to the goodness and purity she holds, then she is the antidote to the poison he secretes deep inside himself. It's stability that resists understanding but simply stands as the truth.
When they apparate outside the doors to the dining hall, he sends her a warning look. There's fear painted behind the hardness of his eyes, and the longer he watches her- the closer it gets to melting amongst the heat.
She has become an influence behind his actions, and for that reason, he drops her hand.
This is how it will be.
His body tenses beside her, and the pureblood posture he's been taught since a child takes up his stance. She waits for him to push the door open, watching how his elegant figure swiftly moves away from her shaking one.
She shakes her head, silently reminding herself to stay strong. Her breathing changes, and it's jittery, coming out in slow steadiness, but she shoves it away, clearing her mind as she walks in behind him.