Tainted Love

Black Firewhiskey

IRIS

It had been in her mind all day, digging into her hands as she tried to brew, edging her voice when she spoke to Daisy. The knowledge, inescapable and paramount, that Draco was visiting his father.

Her eyes were always on the clock. Watching the seconds go by, waiting desperately for them to turn to minutes. If only she could leave early. If only she didn't have to work at all. If only she could have gone with him... but no, she didn't want that.

All day she had wanted him close to her, immediate. Draco had never been in her control, not quite, but lately she thought she might understand him. Somewhere on an island his father could be changing that understanding, warping it beyond her control.

When she apparated home she stood in their yard for a moment and watched the grass fold in the wind. She thought of how Tracey had said goodbye to her earlier, how Theodore and Sebastian had clipped her on the shoulder as they passed.

Iris had traded her easy life with them for one with Draco. A hard one, most of the time. But she loved him.

I love him, she reminded herself as she walked to the door.

She left a part of herself on the grass outside. As she touched the handle, time split and spit her out, a version of her left untouched by the new life she was about to walk into.

There was no way for her to know that. If she did, would she have gone home with Tracey instead of returning to Draco? Would she have crossed the Atlantic and gone home early? Would she have stopped talking to the man she claimed to love?

Maybe. Probably not. The inescapable fact of the matter, though, was that she would never be quite the same now.

He was lying on the couch, his body tangled and slack. His hand wrapped loosely around the neck of a bottle, something hard. Whatever it was, it had spilled onto the carpet, a dark circle of wet around its edges.

And more bottles on the table. His body so still Iris couldn't tell whether or not he was breathing.

And she was on her knees beneath him, of course she was, so immediately it felt like she apparated instead of running from the kitchen. Breathless as she grabbed his wrist, the bottle falling onto the floor once and for all, the thud of glass hitting the carpet.

Iris pressed her shaking fingers into Draco's wrists, nail digging into his skin, always so soft, please let there be a heartbeat. It was alarmist and stupid. She couldn't find one.

But it didn't matter anyways. The force of her hands on his made his body stir, untwist a little bit. His head hung off his neck haphazardly and he opened his eyes, just slightly, to stare at her.

"Draco," she swallowed, her head hitting his chest in a desperate maneuver to be closer to him. She felt his hands swipe across her back and couldn't tell whether he was trying to comfort her or trying to move his body into a different position.

He looked at her again, his eyes more alert this time. Fuck. Fuck. She was hoping -- had been hoping all day -- that seeing his father wouldn't have affected him so much. That he would have somehow graduated from his reach.

That had been naive.

She crawled to him until she was on the couch with him, clinging onto his body as if it could somehow anchor her to a time in the past, to a version of him that existed before this one.

"Draco," she repeated. He still smelled like himself. "Draco, Draco, Draco..."

All she could think to do was repeat his name like a dog in hopes that the real him would come back to her. Her hands skated up and down his chest, smoothing over his shoulders. Attempting to push some life into him. He looked strange and empty, as if a dementor had come and had his way with him.