Friday's Child // Draco Malfoy

5:

CW: violence/fighting/descriptions of injuries. 

AN: I wanna stress that Juno's voice is just like Luna's like pls read it like Luna would speak xoxo

As usual, Friday rolled round, and Juno was perched by the lake's edge, reading a book, waiting for Draco to arrive. The months were moving quickly, and soon she found herself to be in the depths of autumn, just on the brink of winter - time seemed to be passing by rapidly. The air was much chillier despite the sun still peaking through the clouds, she huddled further into the cloak she wore over her robes, before gathering a small pile of wood, ensuring no creatures were living amongst them or anywhere nearby where they would get hurt, and she lit a small fire. The weather never deterred her, this was just the beginning. She'd sat through afternoons of snow, and wind and rain, ever creative in her ways of protection against the harsher forms of weather. 

Draco was running late. She tried not to time keep, or hold him to any expectations, but the sun had almost set and usually he was there to watch it with her. She attempted to ignore the pit of anxiety that formed in her stomach, and certainly tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment swelling in her chest. 

Relief washed over her as she heard twigs snapping under approaching footsteps, she lifted her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she was about to greet him, but the sight she was met with made her anxiety return, only much stronger. His stature was hostile, hands buried in his pockets as he stormed towards her, his hair dishevelled, face sunken into a scowl. Blood ran down from his nose, to his lip, which was also split open and bleeding, and dripped from his chin, the skin around his eye was already morphing into a deep purple colour. 

"You're hurt," she breathed, standing up to and hurrying to his side. As she got nearer, she noticed his knuckles were split open and swollen. He didn't respond to her, his face didn't even soften from the harsh sneer he wore. She lead him over to a nearby log, motioning for him to sit down as she inspected his cuts. "You should probably go and see Madam Pomfrey, I've fixed some bones before but-" 

"I'm not going to Pomfrey," He spat, eyes looking beyond her. 

"But-"

"Can you heal them or not?" She was taken back by his callousness, unsure of how to respond to the side of him she had heard so much about, but hardly encountered herself. "Fuck," he hissed, as he flexed the tendons in his hand, "I don't even fucking know why I come here, every fucking Friday, like that's going to eliminate all the shit I've got going on. It's a waste of fucking time, I don't even know why I bother with you, with this stupid fucking 'tradition', it's all bullshit-" 

His anger only increased as he rambled, but she let him, she knew something must have happened and he was displacing his feelings, so, she tried to remain unaffected by his words, allowing him to vent out his emotions before she spoke again.

"I can heal them," she said, her tone of voice as it always was, not at all letting on that she was hurt or upset by his words. Of course, they had stung a little, but she had faith he didn't really mean it. "If you'd like?" 

He looked at her silently, perplexed for a moment, his hard gaze burning into hers. She looked back at him with a soft sort of defiance, mixed with a gentle kindness he couldn't quite comprehend; he'd  been brought up in a world absent of such a thing. Sighing, he lowered his body to the floor, resting his back against the tree trunk, motioning for her to sit, his face softening more and more by the minute. 

Sitting beside him, she reached into her bag, until she was shoulder deep inside it, rattling around to find something specific. She withdrew a small jar, filled with what looked to be a thick sludge. He sighed, half amused;