Draco takes off a split second after he lands on the soil of Venna Lakes.
He sprints down the path that winds down to the lake, the lodges standing lonely and abandoned around it. From his vantage point on the hill that he's currently racing down, he can't see any sign of Mavi or Aumutage — but his wrist is burning red hot now, scalding his skin.
He casts a Trace as he runs, his heart pounding in his chest, looking for any sign of her. Instinctively, he heads towards Aumutage's lodge and the thin bracelet around his wrist becomes so heated, he nearly tears it off.
The Trace comes up empty — as expected — but just as Draco steps up to the door of the lodge, fully intent on ramming his shoulder into it to force it open, he hears the distinct sound of heavy breathing from behind him. In his haste and his panic, he hadn't noticed what he normally would have — soft footsteps on the grass behind him.
He whirls — just as Aumutage brings the shovel down on his head. Draco throws an arm up to stop it, the other drawing his wand — but Aumutage is strong and the shovel catches him on the side of his head just as he ducks out from under it.
His ears ring, pain bursting in his skull — but Draco grips the handle of the shovel and shoves it back, driving it right into Aumutage's chest. He stumbles back with a pained gasp and that's all it takes for Draco to recover, his wand now up and pointed right at the blond man.
Aumutage stares at him, wide-eyed, still clutching the shovel.
Draco isn't surprised the Cruciatus Curse is on the tip of his tongue, aching to be said. But he can't.
"Where is she?" Draco says through gritted teeth. His sharp senses take in the criminal in front of him — the man he's been hunting for years. There's no blood on him, no rips in his clothes.
That's not a good thing. That means Mavi probably didn't fight.
An ache so severe flares to life in Draco's chest, dread wrapping tight fingers around his throat. "Where. Is. She."
Aumutage only smiles, revealing too sharp teeth. "Six feet underground, I believe."
Cracks of Apparition resound through the air, Draco's team finally arriving — but Aumutage doesn't even look fazed. In fact, he looks triumphant. Like he doesn't care that he's lost the game — because he really hasn't. Because if he's buried Mavi, there's no way Draco can get to her anyway.
Except there is. That damned bracelet on his wrist hasn't stopped burning yet — so she's still alive. Only a minute could've passed since Aumutage had attacked Draco — which means there's still time.
Draco doesn't even wait. As soon as Deiji comes sprinting down the hill, his team sweeping by her on brooms, he's gone, following the barely visible footprints around the lodge, leading to the backyard. His bracelet burns so violently, he has to grit his teeth to stomach the pain.
Terror tears through him at the sight of the freshly packed dirt — right at the foot of where the treeline begins.
No.
A strangled scream rips from his throat as he drops to his knees beside it. He shoves his hands into the soil, his Occlumency fading with the despair that swallows him up — and begins to dig.
Mavi. Mavi. Mavi.
The rest is a blur. Someone pulls him away from the grave, telling him to stop, telling him they'll take care of it. He fights to stay, dirt gathering underneath his nails, rocks ripping at his skin and making it bleed as he lurches forward.
They pull him off anyway and a group surrounds the grave, getting to work. He can't see what they're doing — but he tries to tell them they can't use any spells on it. Blowing the dirt apart might harm Mavi if she's down there.
But they seem to be levitating out the dirt, six or seven Aurors working in unison. Draco can hear Aumutage laughing from the front of the lodge, probably bound and being watched by Deiji and the others.
And then his bracelet begins to cool.
There's only pure raw pain, barrelling through his muscles and making him lunge forward, trying to shove the Aurors aside. They force him back, chanting their spells and removing soil faster than he ever could've — but it's no use. It's no use if she's gone, if she's stopped breathing, if the bracelet has stopped burning.
Please. Hold on, Mavi. Hold on. I'm here. Please don't leave. Please, I—
Her face appears — but the soaring hope that flashes through him is quickly doused.
Her face is blue.
Only a tinge — but how many times has he seen that colour in his career? How many times has he seen victims strangled to death, suffocated — with that very same tinge of blue under their skin?
He was too late. He was too late, he let her down and he can't breathe, can't suck in a sliver of air as he stumbles back after that first glimpse. As he falls to his knees again and stares at the grass in front of him.
They're shouting around him, gesturing for the Healers to come forward, lifting her limp body out of the ground. Draco watches — in a trance — as they lower her onto the ground a couple feet from him.
She's still dressed in blue — that pretty baby blue sundress she'd bought with Nezryn and Nadia. She'd showed it off to Draco with a twinkle in her eye the day she'd bought it — and he'd cornered her against the wall outside his study a moment later and kissed her senseless.
Her hands are still bound, fingers of her right hand shoved under the thick ropes to touch the bracelet on her left. She's covered in dirt. It's smeared across her bare skin, staining her cheeks, clumps gathered on her eyelashes. Thin rivers of blood wind down her arms, staining her palms. She must've been dragged across the earth.
He needs her to open her eyes. He needs to see that dark shade of brown — the colour he'd deciphered so long ago on the night they'd snuck into the library. The colour he'd studied underneath rays of sunlight and moonlight, in rain and snow. The colour he'd woken up to every morning for those few weeks that they'd lost themselves in each other — before he'd fucked it all up.
He's failed her. He was supposed to protect her. He put her in this situation — and now she's gone. Limp and lifeless, lying in front of him — yet she's never been farther away.
Mavi means blue and she's in that blue dress and her face is blue. It seems the colour has followed her throughout her life — from birth to death.
Draco twists and throws up onto the grass.
———
There's only peace as she drifts through nothingness.
A gentle caress of a hand — her mother's. She can hear the jingle of bracelets, the smell of berries surrounding her in a gentle, comforting cocoon.
She's never felt closer to her. Since her mother went missing, all Mavi has done is mourn her loss — but now, she's never felt more connected to her She can even hear her mother's soft voice, always soft-spoken, always kind.
Mavi wants to stay here — wherever this is. In blissful darkness, surrounded by nothing and everything all at once, within memories of her mother. She's tired of fighting, tired of having to be strong to survive.
It's time, aşkım.
Her mother's voice floats over her like a slow wave. It takes Mavi back to memories of playing on the beach in Antalya back home, getting swallowed up by the water as a new crest rolled in.
Anne, Mavi tries to say. I've missed you so much.
Although Mavi can't see her, she feels her mother's smile. How I wish I could've been there to watch you grow.
I'm here now.
Another smile, nostalgic and heart-wrenching, reaching straight into Mavi's soul. Come, Mavi.
A kiss of a breeze — like a breath of fresh air — and Mavi is home.
———
Draco looks down at the glass of whiskey currently sat in front of him at the bar.
It's the same bar — the same damn one he'd come to with her so long ago. Where she'd gotten drunk and danced, laughing and not at all graceful — and beautiful all the same. Where she'd yelled for him to join her and he'd shaken his head with a wry smile on his face as she pouted and turned away, hips swaying to the music. Where he'd cancelled the order she'd given for another drink and instead dragged her out, hiding his smile when she stumbled and cursed at him for ruining her fun.
She'd never been more alive then — her face flushed, a thin sheen of sweat over her skin, hair wild and falling out of her ponytail. Scowling one second and then laughing the next, throwing her arms around him and nestling into him as he manoeuvred them out into the cold street.
And she'd looked up at him with those twinkling dark eyes, those smile lines forming around her lips, moonlight reflected in her irises — and she could've brought him to his knees with just that look.
Draco snatches up his glass and downs the whiskey in one go, bringing it down with a slam onto the counter a moment later, the burn stinging his throat.
"Bad day?"
It's a female voice — with an accent. French, he thinks. And when she sidles in next to him, onto the barstool, he's taken aback for a second — because he hadn't even considered the thought of getting any attention tonight. He'd just wanted to get out of that damn house where traces of Mavi still linger in the corners, in the makeshift lab, her cinnamon scent in the foyer, one of her scarves thrown over the sofa, left abandoned. The indent in the space beside him in his bed — which he's sure doesn't really exist but he feels the hole she's left nonetheless.
"Not a talker, huh?" the newcomer remarks, dryly, with a pleasant tilt to her lips as she tries to get a better look at his face. "Well, I reckon with a face like that, it does all the talking for you, hmm?"
She's pretty, sure — long, flaming red curls tumbling down past her shoulders, a splatter of freckles across her face, two bright green eyes that reflect the dim lights above the bar — but she's not Mavi and no one ever will be and so Draco will just have to be alone.
"I'm not interested," he says, his voice rough and low, diverting his eyes back to his empty glass.
Her eyebrows raise. "Who said I was? I was just making small talk."
He scoffs in response but offers no words, hoping his silence will make her go away.
"Alright." She doesn't seem fazed, her tone almost gleeful. "Well, I can't lie and say I didn't come over here with the intent of seducing you but can you really blame me? It's not everyday you see Draco Malfoy at a bar."
That gets his attention — and he looks up at her then, eyes narrowed. "You're a witch."
"Bingo." She flashes him a dazzling grin — dimpled — but it's not Mavi's and so he doesn't want to see it. "What's a celebrity like you doing out here in a Muggle bar?"
He taps his ring against his glass. "Thought that was obvious."
"There's plenty of bars you could go to in the Wizarding World."
"I prefer places I'm not bothered," he snaps back. "And you're currently bothering."
She laughs with a shake of her head. "It's good to know you're as unfriendly as you look," she teases, propping her chin up on her palm. "At least I can take those newspaper cutouts I have of you down now."
Draco rolls his eyes and orders another whiskey.
"I'm Thea, by the way." She holds out a well-manicured hand and he ignores it. She drops it but doesn't look bothered. "And no, I don't actually have newspaper cutouts of you — although if I did, they'd probably cover my entire house from top to bottom. You know how many times you're on the front page?"
"I'm aware," he grumbles as the bartender brings over his glass. "Can this be the point where this conversation ends?"
Thea shakes her head again, that pleasant smile still on her face. "Sure, handsome. But can I ask you one last thing before I go?"
"No."
"Great, thanks. Is that girl okay? You know, the one that was kidnapped by that creep."
Grief flares to life in Draco's gut and his eyes burn all at once, the simple question enough to set him off.
"I'm sorry for asking." She does genuinely seem apologetic at his reaction. "But it's just—it hit a little too close to home. She was my age, wasn't she? Twenty four, twenty five? And I just keep thinking what if it had been me?"
"Well, it wasn't," he grits out, downing his glass again. "So count your lucky fucking stars."
"That's not what I mean," Thea says, gently. "I just—It really unsettled me because it made me realise just how fickle life is, you know? You think it can never be you, that it can only happen to other people—but then a case like this pops up. Ordinary girl, ordinary life—and you realise it very well could've been you."
Draco doesn't answer. Just keeps staring down at his glass.
"I'm sorry," she says again. "I was just worried—and there's been no news about her so I—When I saw you here, I thought I'd ask."
She gives a soft laugh and says, "Well, not really. I thought I'd try to take you home first. But then, after that, I thought I'd ask."
She crinkles her nose in a way that he supposes is endearing. "That makes me sound like a creep, doesn't it?"
"I thought this conversation was supposed to end three minutes ago," he deadpans and for some reason, that coaxes another quiet laugh out of her.
"Okay, okay, I'm going, you ray of sunshine. But—" She pauses, as if contemplating. "Can you write to me? If anything changes?"
Draco doesn't know why he doesn't say no. Doesn't know why he just nudges the napkin over to her. Doesn't know why he lets her scrawl her address on it in large, flowery cursive.
And then she's gone — and Draco is alone with his thoughts once more.
———
He meets with Silas Ajax the next morning.
———
Aumutage is sentenced to life in Azkaban. Draco wishes he could kill him — just to revive him and do it again.
———
He hates the colour white. White walls, white floors, white sheets. He hates it all.
———
It's exactly a week after it all happened.
There's still a mark on his skin — no different from a regular burn. He could heal it — but finds himself clutching onto the last part of her he has left.
He's at work today — although Deiji had had to drag him out of bed and all the way to the precinct. Everyone seems to be giving him a wide berth — especially Robinson who starts walking the other way whenever Draco appears. Even Vera has laid off him.
There's a knock on his door — but he doesn't say anything. Stays standing by the window, hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking out over the courtyard.
He knew she'd come eventually. He'd seen her hurry through the archway in the courtyard a couple minutes earlier.
He'd considered locking his door and acting like he wasn't in — but although he doesn't want to, he'll have to have this conversation eventually. Better to do it now than later. Rip off the band-aid, as the Muggles put it.
The doorknob turns and the door clicks, the slow creak echoing as it inches open. He can't get himself to turn, can't get himself to do anything but give her his back, hoping she'll leave.
"Is there a reason you've locked me out of the Manor?"
No greetings then. No wasting time, no beating around the bush. Alright. He can work with that.
"Yes," he responds, keeping his voice blank, his eyes following a group of trainees as they go through their training exercises in the courtyard. "I thought it best."
"May I know why?" Her voice is cold — colder than he's ever heard it — and for one burning, blazing moment, he hates her. Hates what she's done to him. Hates what she's reduced him to. "At least be brave enough to fucking face me, Malfoy."
She's upset with him then. Angry.
Draco steels himself with a breath and turns from the window.
Mavi Ilayda Sultan looks devastatingly pretty, standing in the doorway to his office — and not for the first time since he's known her, Draco is nearly brought to his knees.
She's dressed in white — a white silk tank top, tucked into loose white pants. She hasn't hidden the bruises — and fury burns in Draco's chest at the sight of the purple skin around her neck where Aumutage had tried to strangle her before burying her alive. There's still a redness in the whites of her eyes — where her blood capillaries had burst. The Healer had told him they had probably exploded in her panic to draw oxygen in as the dirt had pressed down on her chest. As she'd suffocated.
She doesn't look much different otherwise — no cuts or scars or blood. But there's a look in her eye that only comes after trauma — and Draco can't look at her because of it.
"Okay," she says in response to his silence, folding her arms over her chest. "If you don't want to answer that question, I'm allowed another. Why didn't you come see me in the hospital?"
His throat constricts — so tight, he doesn't even think he could speak if he wanted to.
"I know you knew I was awake." Her voice breaks — the first crack in her armour. "So why didn't you come?"
Everything within him aches and burns and pains. He wants to cross the distance between them and wrap his arms tight around her. Bury his face in her hair and inhale cinnamon and red apples. Wants to feel her melt against him, her body moulding to his.
"Again," he says, swallowing hard, his own voice threatening to break, "I thought it best."
"Why?" It bursts out of her — and even she blinks at the ferocity of it. "Did you not think I wanted to see you?"
"You were in a coma."
"For three days." She steps forward and he wants to tell her not to, to stay as far away as she possibly can from him. "It's been four more since then—and I know they notified you the second I was awake. So why didn't you come?"
She's hurting. He can see her trembling, her fingers gripping her biceps where she has her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are filled with it all — pain, suffering, disappointment.
And he has to make it worse.
"We can't do this." His voice wavers and he curses himself, internally. "We can't fucking do this, Mavi."
A crease appears between her brows. "Do what?"
"This." He gestures between them, finding it difficult to gather his thoughts. "I—This was a mistake. We never should've—" He stops, forces himself to inhale. "We never should've started this."
She's quiet for a long time and they look at each other across that room, only a couple feet apart — but he's never felt further away from her. And when she speaks, it's almost inaudible, with dread woven through the syllables like a persistent thread.
"Because Easton raped me?"
And if Draco was less selfish — if he'd had the guts to do what's right — he would've said yes. He would've driven her out of his office and away from him, made her detest him to the point she'd never come back.
But he can't. No matter what, he can't let her think that is what this is about.
"No," he says, quietly. "This has nothing to do with that."
Some of the tension releases from her shoulders but she still looks on edge. "Then?"
He stares at her and then shakes his head, giving a soft, dry chuckle. "You know why, Mavi."
"I don't." Desperation leaks into her voice and she steps forward again. He instinctively takes one back — although his desk is between them anyway. "I really—I just wanted to see you and you never showed up. I was—I was waiting for you."
Each word sends a raw ache through his chest, reverberating between his ribs. Settling down and making a home there. A wound that will bleed for years, one he'll constantly pick at.
"I'm sorry." Even his voice sounds raw. "But I—You shouldn't even be here now. It's best if we just—" It's never been harder to speak. "It's best if we just end this now."
Pain flashes across her face — but he's been weak and he's let his reluctance show through. "Why are you doing this?"
"Please," he says, turning back to the window, although it hurts to turn his back on her now. "Please leave."
"I don't understand." Her innocent confusion jolts him further, makes him shut his eyes. "I thought—Draco, what's going on?"
His name falling from her lips, woven in between desperation and longing, tinged with hurt — It makes his eyes burn and he has to blink away his tears before they fall, glad he's turned away so she can't see them.
"Does this have something to do with your parents?" Her voice shrinks further. "Is this because I'm not a Pureblood?"
He should say yes. He should say absolutely.
"It'd never work." He dodges the question but gives as close to an affirmative answer as he can manage without wanting to rip his own throat out. "You know it wouldn't."
"You weren't concerned about that before."
"Because I was stupid. Because I wasn't thinking ahead."
"So you're not going to be with me because I'm not a Pureblood?" She doesn't believe him. He can hear it in her voice.
"I can't marry you." I wish I could. I wish I could. "I never could."
"Who said anything about marriage?" She's moving closer but he can't find the strength to face her again.
"Why would we be doing this otherwise?" His voice is thick, betraying him.
"Draco." And then she's touching him, her hand slipping into his own by his side, gripping it tight and tugging him around to face her.
He wrenches away, his palm tingling, and shakes his head, backing up against the window. "Don't."
"You're lying to me," she says, softly — and he shuts his eyes, unable to look at her. "Draco, please don't lie to me."
Gods, he can't do this. He can't fucking do this to her. He can't hear that tone in her voice, can't stand it. But he doesn't have any other choice.
"I'm sorry." He doesn't open his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm—"
"I don't want your apology." She doesn't touch him again but she steps closer, a foot or two away. He can scent her now — that familiar cinnamon scent, mixed with medicinal balms for her wounds. "I just want you to tell me the truth."
This time, when she places a hand on his arm and turns him to face her, he doesn't pull away. Instead, he forces his eyes open and steels himself before he looks down at her, feeling his breath catch as soon as he locks eyes with her.
He wonders what she sees — wonders if she sees the cruel, merciless person he's become. Wonders if she realises the mistake she's made by being with him. Or maybe her naïveté means she's still giving him the benefit of the doubt.
"Draco." Her voice is so quiet, so delicate and it shatters him in ways he can't quantify. "Why didn't you come see me?"
Draco draws in a deep breath. His eyes fall shut on instinct as she steps into him, pressing her cheek against his chest, twining arms around his torso. He can't help the instinctive movement as he drops his head against the crown of hers, resting his cheek against the top of her hair. It's an effort to keep his hands in the pockets of his trousers and not tangle them into her soft hair.
"Talk to me," she whispers, sounding broken. "Please."
It's several moments before he can speak and several more before he can muster the strength to pull back from her. "This is my fault."
She watches him with a frown, arms dropping away from him. "Which part?"
"All of it." It comes out more abrupt than he meant it to. "I—I got you into this fucking mess, Mavi, and you—you nearly died."
He shudders at the memory of her lifeless body, the soil caking her skin as she'd lain on the earth. That blue tinge underneath her skin.
"You were dead," he says, softly, raising one hand to frame her cheek, unable to resist rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. "I did that to you."
She's so soft and real and alive — and it tears him apart to know she could've been dead, had it not been for some miracle. Had the Healers not managed to pull her back from the brink of it — even though everyone there knew she'd asphyxiated. It'd been something they'd never seen before. As if she'd been granted a second chance, even though just by looking at her, anyone could tell she was dead. As if someone had just restarted her heart — when her pulse had been missing for several minutes.
As if someone on the other side had sent her back.
"No, you didn't." Her gaze turns pleading as she leans into his touch, gripping his wrist in her hand, keeping his palm flat against her cheek. "You couldn't have known. I ran out of the Manor of my own volition."
"I drove you out," he breathes, dropping his forehead to hers. He's been trying to keep it together — but the past week has been the worst of his fucking life and considering that he spent years in Azkaban, that's saying alot. "I can't—I can't live with the things I said to you."
Tears glimmer in her eyes and he knows she's reminiscing the events of that night — every single terrible moment from start to finish. "You didn't know. You thought—"
She swallows hard and he gives in, sliding both hands into her hair and pulling her to him, pressing their foreheads tight against one another. Both their eyes fall shut and for a long moment, they seem to bask in each other's presence, listening to each other breathe.
"You thought I'd cheated on you," she reminds him, voice tiny. "You didn't know the context. How can I hold that against you?"
Draco wants to fall to his knees right there and then. He wants to kiss her, wants to yell at her, wants to show her how fucking stupid she's being. Can't she see how terrible he is for her? Can't she see he's going to fucking ruin her?
He savours the feeling of the wavy strands of her hair between his fingers. No trace of soil or blood in them. No trace of what happened that night. Of what he caused.
"I can't." His voice breaks and it takes all the restraint he has in him to step back. To let his hands fall away and draw himself up to his full height. To leave her alone and hurting, just a couple feet away but yet so far. "I can't, Mavi."
Again, that raw flash of pain on her face. "It isn't your fault. None of this is your fault. And even if it was, I'm okay now. All's well that ends well, right? I'm—"
"No." He shakes his head, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Stop trying to fucking justify this. Stop trying to give me the benefit of the doubt. This is—This is fucked, Mavi. Fucked, you hear me? We can't do this anymore. I can't—I can't do this."
"Draco." She's stepping forward again. "I'm the one who got hurt but I'm fine now—"
"You were dead!" It explodes out of him, so sudden she flinches, stepping back and stopping when the desk cuts into her back. "You were buried alive, Mavi. You were—You were blue."
He has to double-check to make sure that sickly colour isn't there anymore, that the rich pink undertones of her face are back instead, evidence of her good health. "Do you have any fucking idea what seeing you like that did to me?"
"Do you have any idea what waking up in that fucking hospital room on my own did to me?" she chokes out, hands gripping the edges of the table behind her.
"You weren't alone."
"You know damn well I was. You know I was waiting for you." Her voice cracks as she stares at him, blinking back tears. "And you never came. What, because you're—because you've got some sort of fucking saviour complex and you think you failed?"
"Because he took you away from me," Draco growls, stepping forward. "Because I let him. Because I let him rip you from me from under my very nose—and you nearly paid for it with your life. Do you have any idea what happened to you? You had no pulse. You were dead, Mavi. They'd sent for the fucking body bag. They still can't figure out how you're alive, how you didn't—"
He falters on the rest of the sentence, detesting the end of it. Detesting the possibility of what could've happened, had he been a split second too late. If the bracelet hadn't burned. If she'd never managed to activate the Wards.
"And taking this away from me is better?" she retorts, defiance rising in her eyes, now clear of tears. "You think ending this will fix all that? You think it'll mean I was never taken?"
Draco shuts his eyes and turns away once more, his voice breaking. "No. But at least I don't have to look at you and see your fucking airway caved in everytime I do."
She's silent for a long time. He doesn't know what step to take next — how to properly continue this conversation. But Mavi takes that into her own hands a couple long moments later, speaking to his back.
"Do you think I didn't hear you?"
So quiet, so intentional. His heart stops at the question. The oxygen seems to be sucked out of the room.
"Draco." Her voice is firmer now. "Do you think I didn't know you came to the hospital while I was comatose?"
No. No, there was no way. She'd been beaten and bruised, totally unconscious. The Healers had said as much. They'd been doubting her survival in those first three days.
Mavi sidles in between him and the window so they're facing each other again. He can't read the expression on her face. His mind is too jumbled to make sense of much.
"Do you think I didn't feel you when you held my hand?" She reaches up and presses her palm flat against his chest, right against his heart. "I could feel your pulse then too. I could hear you crying."
His stomach has twisted and knotted and turned — and he feels faintly nauseous but he's unable to move, stuck in place.
"Do you think I didn't hear you say it to me?"
Fuck.
"Please don't," is all he can manage around the knot in his throat.
"I heard you," she tells him, a tear tracing down her cheek. "I heard you and I—" She swallows hard. "I wanted to say it back. But I couldn't and I—"
She bows her head, almost ashamed. "I'm sorry."
It's too much. It's too much and it's too overwhelming and he's falling apart and she's the only one who can hold him together.
She looks up again, eyes bright and burning, and he know she's going to say it and there's no way in hell she's going to say it first. "Draco, I—"
He seizes her face and kisses her hard, feeling her body melt into his. Feeling her hands grip the front of his thin sweater, tasting tea and her cherry lip balm. She's all around him, all at once, giving and taking, fingers raking through his hair, dragging down his chest.
They're both fighting for it — fighting to convince themselves the other is really there and real. Fighting to chase away the nightmares and the memories, the lingering aftereffects of that night.
He's barely aware of what's happening and it's all a blur anyway — but somehow, she ends up sprawled on his desk right after he clears it with one strong arm. He lays her down with gentleness that doesn't match his kiss — and only when she pulls away for breath, does he slow down.
He kisses up her throat, her neck, finding the bruises Aumutage left. Traces his fingertips around the edges, watching her chest heave. That sense of guilt and shame and dread wells up in him once more — and he nearly pulls back.
"Gods," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so fucking sorry, Mavi."
She shakes her head, as lost for words as he is, it seems. He ducks his head again, leaning over her, covering her with his body and kisses the bruise, gently. Drags his thumb across the ridges of her throat, feeling her breaths underneath him. Telling himself she's okay and alive and here with him.
He doesn't move from there for a long while. She seems content for him to stay there, fingers twisting into his hair as he continues to place soft kisses against her neck, her collarbones, the hollow of her throat. The curve of her jaw. Under her ear, making her gasp.
I love you, he tries to tell her. I'm so sorry that I do.
She clutches onto him, tears wetting her cheeks as she kisses him again, trembling beneath him. He wants to put her at ease, wants to stop and comfort her like he has so many times before — but he's already taken this too far and no matter how much he wants to be with her, he can't.
His hands slip underneath the thin silk tank top nonetheless — but he stops when he feels the fading scar from where she'd been splinched because of Easton.
Mavi seems to be a culmination of everything men like to hurt — and the fact that she has different marks on her body from two different men makes Draco see red. Only he's left a mark too — just not one that's visible to the eye.
His throat closing up, Draco draws back, shaking his head. "I can't."
His guilt nearly chokes him and he turns away, rubbing one flat palm over his mouth and jaw, the other buried in his trouser pocket to prevent from reaching for her again.
He hears her sit up. "Draco—"
"You need to leave." His voice is hoarse. "Please, Mavi. Don't—Don't do this."
"You're doing this," she responds, quietly. "You're putting us through this. Not me."
"I'm trying to do what's best."
"For who?" She hops off the desk, landing behind him. "Aumutage is in Azkaban. Or he will be by the end of this week. No one else is hunting me down. You won't have to see me like that again."
"You don't understand," he forces out through gritted teeth, swiveling to face her. "How can you not fucking understand?"
She tilts her face up to glare at him, tears still drying on her cheeks. "How can you just give up?"
He stops. Stares. How can she think he has any other choice? Can't she see? Leave it to Mavi to be so bloody optimistic.
"I can't do this," he repeats, rubbing his hands over his face. Exhaustion takes root in his bones. "I can't."
And even though he needs her to understand, he can't help the disappointment he feels when she steps away from him, backing away to a safe distance.
"Okay," she says, quietly, avoiding his eyes. Staring at the floor. "If that's what you want."
"Mavi—" His voice falters on her name and he steps forward, already extending an arm out to reach for her. "This isn't about you. Believe me, it's not—"
"Do you know how much worse that makes it?" Her eyes snap to his, shining with tears and cracks spiderweb through his heart. "To know it's not me—yet still, no one can seem to stay?"
The hurt in her voice makes him wish the ground could swallow him up. "It's not—"
"I'm always perfect, aren't I?" She wipes under her eyes, furiously. "Always kind and loving and caring. Always giving people the benefit of the doubt, always making sure they're comfortable and content. Swallowing my own fucking opinions and wants because I'd rather do what they want to do so that they stay happy."
Draco can't take his eyes off her. She's shaking, still trying to dry her tears — and he knows this past week must've been hell for her. He knows he's only made it worse.
"And yet," she gives a soft laugh but it's devoid of humour, "yet, no matter how much I give and give and give, it's never enough for someone to stay, is it?"
No. It's on the tip of his tongue, aching to be said. It was more than enough for me. It was a privilege.
"So that's it." She shakes her head, tucking her hands behind her. He knows she's squeezing them together tight — like she always does. "I'm perfect but somehow, I'm still not enough and so there's really nothing I can do to make you stay, is there?"
Draco says nothing — and she gives a final nod like she'd expected that response for him.
"Fine then." She's already turning for the door. "I trust you'll pay me what I'm due for my services."
"I already did." His voice is low, stopping her in her tracks. "It's all in your vault."
She pauses, one hand slowly reaching for the doorknob. "You gave me more, didn't you?"
He doesn't reply — because yes. He's made sure she has enough Galleons to last her two lifetimes of the most luxurious lifestyle.
"I hired a Healer," he says instead. "For your father. He's being looked after—and there's a flat in your name somewhere in London. You don't have to stay in that place anymore."
In the place where Easton raped you.
She swallows hard, half-turning from the door, keeping her gaze downward. "And I don't suppose the fact that Easton is in hospital recovering from horrific wounds has anything to do with you, does it?"
Draco tilts his head and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "He got what was coming for him."
Her eyes raise to his and his breathing hitches. "There was an M carved into his chest."
"Was there?"
"You really couldn't refrain from putting your initial there?"
Draco cocks his head again, looking at her. At the woman who gave up parts of herself she never should've been asked to give up. "It didn't stand for Malfoy."
She seems to stop breathing.
"It stood for Mavi."
Her eyes water — but she blinks them away, fingers quivering as they wrap around the doorknob once more. "I wish you'd be brave enough to be with me."
Draco aches from the inside out. So many what ifs. So many wishes and wants and desires — and yet he has to let them go now. Has to watch her walk out and go find herself somewhere else — somewhere where she's not bound to her father or to Easton or to him.
"Me too," is all he says, quietly, and she inhales a deep breath, disappointment clear on her features before she steps out of his office and leaves him.
———
was gonna make this longer but i got tired lol. pls tell ur hitmen to only assassinate me after friday i have an important assignment xoxoxo
kisses!
nyx<3