DISCONTINUED--Letters I Can't Send (draco x reader)

29

Draco's POV

"Y/n."

Her drunken smile fades immediately when I say her name. My hands are firm on her shoulders, trying to grasp any sober part of her conscience by lightly shaking her.

"Y/n, can you hear me."

She smiles weakly and takes a shaky hand up to my hair and plays with the ends of it.

No, she's drunk. Don't let her do that. Don't let yourself enjoy it.

I swat her hand away and takes almost everything in me to do it.

I can see the way her eyes are bloodshot and how she sways against my grip. Emerald potion.

The emerald potion is a potion that makes anyone instantly drunk. I could tell at once when I saw her swaying on the spot and Crabbe and Goyle running from the scene they caused. That potion is there specialty. 

I huff. Then I see the terrifying sight in her eyes, as they go far away and drift closed. She leans forward and I catch the front of her shoulders to keep her from collapsing onto me. I stand and push her back onto my bed, as scandalous as it seems.

..........

She's lying in my bed and I hope and hope no one walks into the dorm in this moment. I rake a hand through my hair, unsure of what to do now. I should take her to the hospital wing, but Madame Pomfrey will surely see that she's drunk—and a 14 year old drunk is 4 years under the drinking limit here, she would become quite suspicious. I rub my hand down my face and huff out another sigh.

Y/n shifts under my sheets and, even in her unconscious state, her brows are furrowed in discomfort. I go to her side at once and lay the back of fingers to her forehead. She's burning up.

I'm even more flustered, bewildered—how can she be running a fever?

For a moment I stop and go through my options.

But screw trying find the best thing to do, I just go with my gut.

I rush to the bathroom and grab a rag, wetting it with cold water from the faucet, wringing it out before darting back to her. I lay the rag on her forehead, wishing her temperature to go down. Her cheeks flush and I'm in a frantic panic.

How is she running a fever when she's drunk from the emerald potion? Intoxication makes your temperature go down, not up.

I have a bad inkling about this. This isn't supposed to happen. I have a vague memory of her telling me about a time when she was in the hospital for some time when she was a child. She hadn't told me what she had or how she got sick.

The only thing I can do is wait for her to wake and hope her fever subsides. I sit on the edge of my bed and brush hair from her face, stroking my thumb over her cheek.

"Why is it always you," I whisper and take her hand instead, fingers brushing over her knuckles. "I swear I'll kill those bastards. I never liked the much anyway," I breathe out a laugh. I trace circles on her palm with my thumb and gaze down at her. Her expression relaxed, her breathing coming in and out as normal, chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern.

I tell her stories, secrets, things I wouldn't dare to tell anyone. But she's sleeping, isn't she? No harm can be done.

My hand is still in hers, which rests on her ribs. But I've leaned over her, my hand place near her waist on the other side of the twin bed.

I dare to do something. I dare to lean over her face and place a single kiss on her sleeping lips. Not that I expected her to suddenly wake, like the muggle fairytales, but I wished she would wake. Partly so I could keep kissing her, so she could be there too, she could maybe feel what I feel.

Just as I break my lips from hers, the door to this dorm creaks and swiftly rise from the bed and see Blaise standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. Which, I must admit, looks very suspicious.

His eyes scan me first, taking in the absence of my shirt—which I discarded when in my "frantic panic"—then the way Y/n lays in my bed, sleeping, a rag that was once on her head, no on the floor.

His eyes darken as they make their way back to mine. "What the hell is going on here?"

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Yeah, I should hope not—you're 14," he says, loud enough to stir Y/n.

"Shh," I take a step forward, shushing him. "Keep your voice down," I hiss.

But it's too late.

"What the fuck?" Blaise and I turn our heads to see Y/n staring at both of us, mouth agape.

Her eyes slowly scan me and my bare chest, causing me to suppress a shiver, before landing on Blaise.

She tries to get up, but I get to her before she can go anywhere. I put my hands on her shoulders to make her stay sitting. She glares at me, her hair is tousled from sleeping and I can't help but think how admirable she looks in this moment. I hope it doesn't show on my face.

"Blaise, go." I demand, keeping my eyes fixated on Y/n's.

He goes, but not without a word of annoyance. "Yeah, sure, I'll let you get back to your love fest." Y/n's glare shifts to Blaise, who shuts the door on his way out.

"Your friends suck," she clarifies.

"I know," I mutter. My hands haven't left her shoulders.

We keep the eye contact for a moment longer, I search for reassurance that she's okay, but I know she is. She seems just as determined to glare at me as hard as she can.

"What time is it?" she asks.

I look to my nightstand and see it says a quarter to 8. I sigh. "8:45." A pause. "Are you okay? Do you remember everything?"

She scoffs. "Yes."