Henrietta Potter || Draco Malfoy

36 - The Sweetest Thing

I gasped, ripping my hands out of Draco's grip to clasp my forehead, trying somehow to stop the pain. It overtook all my senses, I couldn't see, hear, or feel anything but the burning agony. I was convinced my head was going to split in two.

Kill me, kill me now, I thought desperately. A cold high pitched scream came from within my head. He was angry. No, he was furious.

I was vaguely aware of someone shouting something outside of my head, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. My knees had buckled beneath me and I started to fall to the floor, but something had prevented me from landing; a pair of arms around my waist.

And then the pain stopped.

"Speak to me! Are you OK?"

I slowly opened my stinging eyes. Draco's face was looking into mine, worry etched all over his features. I realised he was holding me up, my body sagging uselessly against his.

"M-My scar," I said weakly, still clutching at my forehead, which throbbed unpleasantly making me feel sick.

"Here, let me look," he murmured gently as he tugged down at my arms so that my hands fell away, revealing my scar.

I closed my eyes shut, trying not to pass out. Cool soothing lips pressed against my brow making me release a pleasant sigh. I held onto him tightly allowing the steady drum of his heart calm me.

"What happened?" He asked, his lips moving against my forehead, tickling my skin. "What does it mean?"

Slowly, I opened my eyes, lifting my head and looked around. We were no longer in the hallway but in an empty classroom.

"You were screaming," he explained, seeing my confusion. "I was worried you might wake someone."

He dropped his arms from around me, suddenly looking awkward as he rubbed the back of his neck.

My head spinning, I exhaustedly sank to the floor, leaning my back against the wall, holding my head in my hands.

To my surprise, he joined me. I caught a whiff of his cologne as he sank down beside me.

"Does that happen often?" He asked. I could feel his eyes on me, and blinking, I slowly lifted my head from my hands to meet his gaze. I was shocked at the amount of worry in his face. There was a warmth in his expression I had never seen before, and I had to fight the sudden urge to place my hand on his tired, gaunt cheek.

"No," I shook my head, wincing as the action caused a pain to shoot through my scar. "But when it does it usually means- it usually means he is angry about something."

A look of fear flashed in the silver of his eyes.

"You- you mean...?" He trailed off, the name left unsaid.

"Yes," I breathed.

I didn't know why I was telling him this. If my suspicions about Draco were correct (and I'm pretty sure they were, as I'm always right), then he ought to be the last person I should confide in.

But I was tired. And he was there. And in that moment, he genuinely seemed to care.

I felt Draco shudder beside me as he let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. I gave him a long quizzical look.

"Are you alright?" I asked, frowning at how unwell he looked.

He let out a short sharp laugh and sniffed, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

"You're asking me if I'm alright?" The bafflement in his voice clear as day.

"I do care, you know, despite what you think," I said somewhat testily. I was too exhausted to get into this again with him.

His eyes met mine again and, for a second, the air stilled between us.

"In your own way, Potter, maybe you do," He croaked. His silver eyes glinted as a small smile tugged at his lips.

"A smile?!" I laughed dryly, "Why, Draco Malfoy, I think that's the first time that's ever happened."

"Perhaps you need to be nicer to me then," he chuckled softly.

"Likewise," I muttered, leaning my head back against the wall and closing my eyes.

I felt something brush my hand, making my eyes fly back open, and as I looked down at the floor where my hand rested between us, I saw that Draco had edged his hand towards mine, brushing his fingertips delicately over my knuckles. Smiling, I turned my hand around, unfurling my fingers and let his slip around mine. The feel of his heated palm pressed against my own made my stomach flip with joy.

***

Draco Malfoy found his heart give an unexpected flutter as her hand squeezed in his.

It was an oddly intimate moment. More so, he realised, than when he had her pinned up against the wall.

She had scared him tonight, actually terrified him. It completely threw him. One minute he was furious at her and the next he had been fiercely frightened for her.

All he had wanted to do was take away her pain and protect her. The feeling was so strong that it had taken him by complete surprise.

So here he was now, sitting side by side with her on the dusty floor of an empty classroom, holding her hand. He had no intention of leaving her, not until he knew she was going to be alright.

And the scar. He did not know what it meant about Voldemort being angry. He was fearful that it was because he, Draco Malfoy, had still yet to complete his mission. He hoped and prayed that his mother was okay. He would never ever forgive himself if she were being punished for his incompetence.

He glanced down at Potter; whose eyes remained closed. She confused him. He wished so much she would stop interfering in things she did not understand. Her mind was so fiercely set on one thing: Voldemort. Didn't she realise that it was bigger than just Voldemort's vendetta with herself? She frustrated him beyond belief.

And yet- and yet, he had this strange desire to protect her, to put his arms around her and hold her. He wanted her so much - more than was healthy, it terrified him.

He scooted closer to her, wanting to feel her warmth pressed against him. To his immense joy, she immediately leant her head down upon his shoulder. Taking this cue, Draco snaked an arm around her back, pulling her into his side.

"I'm so tired, Draco," she whispered weakly.

His heart gave a small twist; he was not used to seeing her acting so vulnerable. Especially when she called him Draco.

"Here," he said, shrugging off his jacket.

He folded it up and placed it on the floor in front of her, coaxing her down on her side, using his jacket as a pillow. He lay down behind her, pressing his torso against her back for support as he draped an arm around her middle.

"Thank you," she whispered sleepily.

He tightened his arm around her and leant over to press his lips once again against her scar.

"Anytime, Potter."

And right then and there, he thought she was the sweetest thing he had ever seen.

***