the girl who lost it all [d.m]

sixty seven: remedium

remedium: cure, remedy, relief

———

DRACO had to admit his favourite part of the day had to be waking up.

Usually, it consisted of rolling over to find Elara sleeping beside him and he'd smile at the mess of her hair. He'd trace her features as she slept, graze his fingers over her mouth, her nose, her eyelids, his touch feather-light. He'd drag fingertips over her freckles and down her jaw and neck, stopping to feel the steady beat of her pulse under his palm.

And when she awoke, it got even better. Lazy kisses, her body warm against his, one leg thrown over him. The smell of lavender and honey almond, intoxicating at the same time as it was familiar. Her hands sliding over his bare chest, trailing over his shoulders, following his scars. Fingers warm as they moved downwards, hooking into the waistband of his pajamas.

It had never felt more right. Even when he'd been with her in Hogwarts, it hadn't felt like this. Like the entire course of his life had happened so it could lead him to this point.

Lying in bed, sleepy and satisfied, with her.

Kissing her was an awakening, waking up next to her a privilege. He didn't know how he—Draco Malfoy, out of all people—deserved this but he wasn't about to turn it down. Not when tomorrow was never guaranteed and he could lose her any second.

But this morning, he woke up alone with the bed beside him empty and cold.

With a yawn, he rolled over, frowning at the space beside him and then sat up, rubbing his eye with one fist. One glance at the clock told him he'd slept in—and that Elara had probably woken up hours ago. They were both early risers usually but today, he seemed to have slept in until eleven. His body was probably still trying to recover from yesterday's torture.

With a wince at his aching muscles, Draco moved to sit on the edge of the bed and took a moment to wake himself up before heading into the bathroom to shower.

But even when he emerged, freshly cleaned, his hair damp, there was a drag in his step, a heaviness to his bones. He knew why, of course—and collapsed back into bed, stretching his body out.

Yesterday had been a harrowing day. He'd left right after Elara had gone down to speak to Stuart—and hadn't returned till after midnight. He didn't even want to think about what had happened.

The door creaked open and Elara stuck her head in, eyes finding him at once. "Still in bed?"

He yawned, tucking one arm behind his head so he could watch her shut the door behind her, a mug in her hand. "Don't feel like getting out."

"I made you coffee." She padded over to him, dark eyes twinkling and bent down to kiss him, placing his mug on the bedside table. "Morning."

He made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat, his free hand lifting to press into the back of her head, her lips bearing down with more pressure on his. "Morning. Thank you."