Desired | Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott, 18+

65

Isla had yet failed to wake up.

Twenty-four hours had passed since the curse violently coursed through her body, and she fainted. The pain was too unbearable for her. She'd never felt anything like it, and it caused her to fall into a heavy sleep.

As she laid there, on Theodore's bed — she had no clue what was happening around her.

She didn't own a thought to what struck following the torture as it carved her open from inside.

Isla didn't know that Draco spent minutes whispering silent spells against her neck, trying to heal her as she was shattering in his arms. He hated himself. He'd never hated himself more than he did at that time.

That spell was meant for him.

He was the one who snapped the guard's neck. He was the one who took the first life. He was the one to blame. Yet, she was the one suffering for it.

He hated that she loved him so much that even when she hated him — she threw herself in front of him. He hated her for that, for the love he didn't feel like he was worthy of.

He despised her for caring. He had happily taken that curse if it meant that she wouldn't be laying there, unconscious on Theodore's covers.

They even sent for Mila. Theodore went to bring her back in order for her to help him heal Isla.

Draco just stood on the opposite side of the room when Theo was gone. He stood there when Theo was there. He stood there when Theodore was lying next to her. He stood there all the time. For the entirety of the twenty-four hours she was unconscious. He just stood there, watching her.

Draco barely blinked.

He was watching her chest, making sure that she was breathing. He watched her closed eyes, wanting them to peel open. He watched her hand, wishing for her fingers to twitch.

He didn't breathe. Didn't want to breathe until he could drown in the ocean of her eyes again.

But not once did he touch her.

Not since he placed her in that bed.

As they left Azkaban nearly a day ago, he carried her out. Draco carried her numb body in his arms while Theodore and Leo fought their way through the guards. He didn't let go of her. He didn't stop looking at her as fire spread around them.

Not even when they were outside, ready to apparate their way back to the Nott residence, and he hauled his wand up, setting the whole of Azkaban on fire, did he stop looking at her.

Theodore had yelled at him, nearly cursed him for burning the place down, but Draco didn't care. He wanted every single soul in that place to burn. He wanted all of them to suffer for what she was going through.

Draco didn't stop there.

After he set the place on fire, watching it torch in flames, he sealed it with magic. He locked it down so no one had a chance to escape.

He didn't care for the lives he took because she was hurt.

Draco Malfoy would happily do it all over again if he had to.

He'd do anything to avenge the fact that she was barely breathing in his arms, and he did.

But now — now he stood there, watching her as she fought to hold on.

He heard Mila and Leo argue. He heard Theodore break their fight up. He heard his best friend trying to meddle between them. He didn't care.

Draco didn't care for anything but her.