the girl who lost it all [d.m]

fifty seven: ebrius

ebrius: drunk, wasted, intoxicated

———

DRACO was awoken to frantic knocking on his door.

Automatically, his hand went for his wand underneath his pillow and he was quick as he swung his legs off the bed and crossed the room to the door.

Elara looked like she'd seen a ghost, her skin pale, her hair half-falling out of the braid. Immediately, Draco's heart plummeted and he had to curb the urge to reach for her as he opened his mouth to ask why the fuck she was at his door at four in the morning.

But she beat him to it, her chest heaving, and said, "Wake everyone and meet me downstairs in the meeting room."

He blinked, still half-asleep but she was already retreating down the hallway, her pace quick. "I—Why?"

"Because," she threw over her shoulder, "I know where the next Horcrux is."

That got Draco moving. He washed up and pulled on a t-shirt before making his way down the hallway, banging on both Granger's and Potter's doors. Mariko peeked out of hers to see what the fuss was about and no less than eight minutes later, they were all gathered in the meeting room, waiting for Elara.

"This couldn't wait till morning?" Jasper stifled a yawn behind his hand and Blaise dug an elbow into his ribs.

"It's a bloody Horcrux, you idiot."

"Yeah, well, I need my bloody sleep."

Draco rolled his eyes from his position by the windowsill, leaning back against it, legs stretched out ahead of him, his ankles crossed over one another. His fingers tapped against his bicep where his arms were crossed over his chest—mostly out of agitation than anything else.

How was it possible that she knew? How could she be so sure? Why had she looked so pale? Had she had another nightmare? Did she need him there? He wanted to be there. Did he? After how she'd used him—made it clear how much she detested him?

When he'd found that ball of parchment lying on Orion's floor by the fireplace, just before him and Orion began arguing, he'd taken one look at it and noticed the sharp angles and lines of his own face. There was only one person who could draw him like that—and it had warmed his chest to an alarming degree.

It was so obvious—how much she cared. But there she was, trying to deny it, trying to shove it away. Kissing Luca, his hand between her legs.

One look at them had made Draco's blood boil and for a second, he'd been sure he would do something stupid. Like tear Luca's windpipe out of his throat, crush his skull between his hands. Yank out his lungs and squeeze them in his fist.

But it had been obvious Elara was enjoying it—albeit not as much as she would've if it had been Draco. But that had been the only thought that subdued him, that made him reign in his rage and jealousy and lean against that railing, taking a sip of his coffee.