BANALITY : Draco Malfoy

73

"Wake up," a voice whispers in my ear.

My heart is in my throat, my body more alert now than I ever remember it being. I practically leap upright, but my head bangs something before the blurriness of sleep has left my eyes. My face tightens as I cradle my head in my hands. If I could open my eyes, I'm sure the whole world would be spinning. The vertigo makes me nauseous.

Someone grunts beside me, and then hisses. I force my eyes open and see Draco, holding his nose in his hands. Blood is gushing through his fingers.

It was real. It hadn't occurred to me that it wasn't, but I was sure I would wake up still trapped with Blaise. Yet, I'm here, and Draco is bleeding.

"Sorry," I manage.

He's standing next to the bed, holding his nose in his hands. I drag myself out of the covers and over toward him. My feet are on the ground, and I slip over to him. I manage to keep myself steady.

"I'm fine," he insists. "We don't have time."

I take his hands in mine, pulling them away from his face. He peers down at me, wide-eyed. His hands are soaked with blood and his nose is gushing. The sight doesn't frighten me. Perhaps my calm demeanour would have made me helpful in the war, even if I wasn't particularly talented at practical magic before my wand and I went through the bonding trauma.

"Do you know how to cast any healing spells?" Draco asks.

I nod my head, running the charms I've learned through my head. I find my wand on the bedside table and raise the tip to point at him, "Episkey."

There is a crack, and Draco's nose brightens red. I'm sure I've made it worse, but then he uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe off the blood. It smears across his face, staining it.

"I am sorry," I manage. "I thought... well."

"It's fine," he winces when he smiles.

Draco wipes the blood off his hands, leaving a red stain on his skin. He grabs my chin, tilting my face toward him. He examines the top of my head, but I pretend there is no dull ache.

We are together, here in his childhood bedroom, and we are somehow quite sade. It shouldn't be surprising, but it is. This place feels very nearly familiar. I can taste tomato soup on my tongue. The Draco in front of me is Draco, and not someone puppeting his skin.

"I'm just tired," I lean toward him, resting my head on his chest.

His arms wrap around me. He smells like sweat, but I'm sure I must smell worse. My entire body aches.

"Do you have clothes that I can borrow?" I ask, leaning back at him.

Draco's face softens. He is wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday, a grey button-up, wrinkled everywhere, and dress slacks. I'm sure if he had other clothes, he wouldn't be wearing these.

"Here," he opens his wardrobe, letting me peer inside while he reaches in.

There are clothes there. He pulls out a cashmere turtleneck, black in colour. I turn around and change into it. I listen as he continues to dig around the drawers.

"All I have are pajamas for bottoms," he says. "Joggers are more of a muggle thing. I have more trousers though."

"Trousers will do," I tell him, turning back to look.

He digs through another drawer. It is deeper than I had expected, like his trunk. It might seem easier to summon the clothes that he wants than to search through them like this. It seems strange that his family has chosen a manor which takes up so much space when it is possible to make huge spaces out of small areas. I suppose it's to show extravagance. Men don't show off walk-in closets, butif they did, I'm sure he would have one.