Double Trouble || Draco Malfoy x Reader

The Hospital Wing || chapter one-hundred and nine

Five hours.

Five long hours.

It officially marked five hours since the incident in Moaning Myrtles bathroom where Draco was dragged out, bloody and unconcious.

A heavy weight seemed to be dawning upon my eyes yet they never once budged from the scene. All I could was pull up a seat besides Dracos low, hospital bed and wait for him to stir.

It was nearly night.

Madam Pomfrey had suggested I get some rest and come back in the morning— but as expected— I refused.

Draco was still yet to wake. A slither of moonlight cast its shadow across his delicate, pale features, something that made his skin almost glow. He slept peacefully and looked as though he could be an angel while he did so. Every inch of his mechanical mask had been broken down to reveal a true, raw version of Draco Malfoy. Relaxed. Vulnerable. You name it.

I drew a sharp breath through my nose before extending an arm towards him, gently weaving my fingers through the sweep of his messy, ice-blond hair. I carefully brushed the soft strands out of his eyes, but when he twitched, my heart stalled.

I drew my hand back and looked down at him— searching for any signs of his body's conscious return.

None.

His chapped lips were etched into their natural state. Neither his classic smirk or loving, yet cheesy smile cast any reminiscence across his face. Like it was never there.

His hard jawbone fell slack, the muscles in his tenants visibly relaxed. A soft flow of air drew itself smoothly in through his nose and back out through his slightly parted mouth, something that was enough to put my mind at peace.

Draco was breathing.

He wasn't dying.

Suddenly, Draco stirred. It was a movement so subtle my eyes hardly caught sight of it. But he did. He shifted ever so slightly, almost as if he was trying to get comfortable.

A gentle smile stretched across my face the more he began to move. Whether it was the subtle clenching in his fists or the tiny roll of his neck. Either way, I leaned a little closer to him, encasing his cold, limp hand in mine.

His snowy lashes began to flutter ever so slightly, eyes screwed in near slits when his lids finally flipped open. He took a few moments to take in his surroundings, blinking cluelessly at the world around him, trying to clear himself of his remaining grogginess.

When Draco's deep blue eyes finally met mine, they locked, his pupils dilating almost immediately. His expression was pained when he gingerly sat up, sore and dazed. Despite that, a tiny smile still managed to find its way etched across his face.

I was here with him.

"How are you feeling?" I ask softly, gently grazing my thumb over the back of Draco's fingers, easing the subtle twitching in them.

"Amazing." Draco drawled, his face twisted slightly as he kept looking at me. His voice was coarse and he rasped every word he uttered. It was as if he held the entire Sahara desert in the back of his throat. At least he's still feeling humorous.

My expression remained concerned, eyebrows raised and eyes narrowed while looking expectantly at him for a real answer.

He's always sarcastic— even in the best of times.

"Okay," Draco sighed, teeth gritted in agonising pain. "It still hurts— a lot."

A wave of sympathy washed over my face while I studied him, calculating. There was a hidden mask of unattended pain behind his carefully guarded eyes. His throat kept contracting and his mouth kept twitching every time he swallowed— releasing short breaths here and there. Maintaining his physique was still clearly a struggle.