𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨

━━ ONLY

( prologue — only )

her toes dip in the bottomless lake and she wonders if she could make it all the way down.

"you'll be okay"

she hums, brushing her fingertips over his bruised belly with an empty frown.

there was a ruthless undertone to a bemoaning behavior that lied within the treacherous soul of a witch with missing front teeth. one that hasn't been revealed much to their youthful demise. and as he watches the unevenly painted stars of her nail polish wink at him, he unravels the least of her threat.

with an arrogant puff of his chest, he hides the terror bitten aching of his beaten stomach. "of course i will be" the squeaky malfoy murmurs, tracing a slit of the rickety oaken staircase that led to the great basin of their very own town, Captisolum, cooly. if only the monsters under his bed could see how mighty their toenail nibbled victim was acting around a sweet witch just his age. head on her lap and all, he could hear their hollers from alpines away.

she scavenges through the satchel she dragged with her out the window and onto the crepuscule of the nighttime haven as she waddled towards his beckon call. finally clutching the tube of paint far too pigmented, she pops it open with a crinkled nose. the lid had rudely scraped the cuticle art off her pinky and now she's glaring at his exhaustive scoff. "i'm waiting?" draco sighs,

"then wait?" solana scorns before she shakes her head with pursed lips, clearing her throat.
"— patiently, wait patiently please" she smiles and he grimaces at the sight of her bare gum dents.

they share the mocking of squinted eyes until he gasps at the cold touch of the paint smeared on her palm. gentle rubs on the expanse of the blemished litter punched on his skin. light caresses as she treats draco's exterior like glass. not like he wasn't just as fragile inside as well, his father wracks his brittle ribcage hollow with an authoritarian fist full of slagging off. slight rips on his heart with a bandage of ambition to earn what binding emolument an entitlement of his own fortune stems with pious roots. a persevering role led to the good of them, a deceptive ethic incites the great of mine.

what's so great about wrestling a house elf with jabbing feet down to assert mastership in front of his father if it meant merely a flicker of attention? he pinches his thighs under solana's laboring gaze at the mere thought of his unbarring effort's neglect. what was i thinking? what did i think it would do? i'm better than this. tattered little draco mulls to himself.

she blinks, and they're still slumped on the splintered flights of steps, only three years older with much more wounds to spare.

a witch play healing. paint stained thumbprints tracing chamomile petals on his sore blunders spoiled on his skin of milk.

a wizard short on breath. conned eyed and desperate for it; for the attention, maybe. for her. but she's not healing him. not really.

time's changed without them.

the more damage she hides under the pasty tint of an artificial corrector, the more he slowly lifts his head to take a better look. he barely lifts his wool jumper higher for more coverage as his neck arches. "it's quite disturbing isn't it" she whispers, her turn to grimace— at what, draco is clueless of as well.

his eyes drop to the discoloration of his swelling peeking from her feather fingers. "my bruises?" he softly guesses, quickly coughing out a tough "hardly", afraid that the only person he'd consoled in would think so disgustingly of his own flesh. what a fear for an eleven year old.