Harry Potter One-shots

Draco Malfoy

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

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The rain hammered against the windowpane, mimicking the tempest raging inside Y/N. She sat on the edge of the bed, Draco’s head cradled in her lap. The blond hair, usually so impeccably styled, was plastered to his forehead, his face contorted in a silent, wrenching sob. He was a broken statue, carved from alabaster and drenched in the sorrow that seeped from his very pores.

Y/N traced a trembling finger along his cheek, the touch leaving a wet trail. His skin, normally smooth and pale, was hot and flushed with the force of his grief. She wanted to shove it all back inside him, to shield him from the pain that seemed to eat him from the inside out.

"Draco," she whispered, her voice cracking. "My love."

He didn't respond, his body wracked with another shuddering sob. The sound tore at her heart, a brutal reminder of how fragile he was, how easily he crumbled under the weight of his pain.

"Did you get enough love, my little Dove?" she asked, the words a choked whisper. "Why do you cry?"

He looked up at her, his eyes swollen and red, mirroring the stormy sky outside. The look in them, the silent accusation, ripped through her. It was a look that spoke of years of suffocating loneliness, of an empty void that had echoed with the absence of love. A void she felt she’d never be able to fill, no matter how much she poured into him.

"You... you can't fill it, Y/N," he finally managed, his voice hoarse and raw. "No one can."

The words were a slap to her heart, a cold truth that cut her to the bone. She had known it, deep down, a nagging unease that had blossomed into a chilling certainty. He was broken, and she wasn't the one to mend him.

She drew him closer, his shuddering body finding solace in the warmth of her embrace. His tears soaked into her blouse, a heavy, silent testament to the depth of his suffering.

"I'll try," she murmured, her voice thick with tears. "I'll try to fill it, even if it's only for a little while."

He shook his head, his face buried in her chest, his breaths hitching. "It's not enough," he whispered, his voice muffled. "It's never enough."

Y/N held him tighter, the weight of his sorrow heavier than any she had ever felt. She knew, with a heavy certainty, that she couldn't save him. He was a wounded bird, one that had been caged for too long, and no amount of love, no matter how deep, could mend its broken wings.

His tears continued to fall, a steady, mournful stream that echoed the endless ache in her heart. She held him, she loved him, but the knowledge that her love wasn’t enough, that it couldn’t reach the depths of his pain, was a cold, heavy burden she carried with her.

The rain outside finally subsided, giving way to a pale, hesitant sunrise. The world seemed to sigh, as if acknowledging the sorrow that hung heavy in the air. And Y/N, with a heart as heavy as the leaden sky, held onto her broken Dove, knowing that the storm in his soul was far from over.