Muggles ✧ Drarry

᥊᥊ꪜ𝓲

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.5k
ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ: ᴍᴀʀᴄʜ 21sᴛ, 2022
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Draco's life was nothing if not a series of peaks and valleys, positives and negatives, steps forward and steps backward. Just as he was beginning to recover from the traumatic experience that was losing his magic and getting it back, just as he was coming to terms that he and Potter were never going to be together, the world had to go and take away the one thing left that he could pretend to hate.

It had been the middle of the night when a Howler had appeared in his bedroom, rousing him from an already restless sleep. The moment it had happened he had anticipated Pansy, since she had oft been a fan of alarming impromptu wake-up calls. However, when he had heard Jean's sweet voice on the other end, he had immediately rushed to St. Mungo's without even listening to what she had had to say.

The instant he had arrived, he had been ushered into the room and briefed on a situation so morally depleting that Draco's only reaction had been to seek help.

And that was how he found himself sobbing by the the side of the shell's bed, holding its ashen hand in his own; Potter was stroking his back while Draco tried to make sense of what the other Healers were telling him. There was no way this had to be goodbye. This couldn't be the end.

The shell was sedated, and, ergo, unconscious. The growing silence of the room was pressing in on Draco's mind, forcing him to try to occupy the space with the sounds of his own cries. Potter was saying nothing, trying to allow Draco to have his time to let everything out. Draco centered his thoughts on what Potter's hands were doing, rubbing small circles in his back.

Draco tried his best to find a rhythm to breathe to, but Potter was so tremendously bad at keeping anything steady that he found it irritating. So instead, he focused on the weight of the hands that courageously held the world in place. He thought of how powerful Potter's hands were, how many lives they had saved, how much magic surged just beneath his skin. Potter, so strong, was here, and that meant that Draco couldn't be unsafe.

Draco slowly untangled his fingers from the shell's and let his hands rest on the edge of the mattress. Potter shifted so that his face was somewhat beside Draco's, and whispered, "What do you need?"

The blond did not reply; at least not verbally. He reached out a hand silently and took Potter's up in it, entwining their fingers so that the grip was tight and sturdy. He didn't look at Potter, only stared at the pale mass before him, studying the cracks in its lips, the rattiness of its hair. It was a truly terrifying sight, one of the most chilling that he had seen in a while, even as a Healer.

A Healer who couldn't even save...this thing.

The door to the room, which had been closed to allow privacy, was pushed open. Jean strolled in, a single strawberry scone on a plate in hand. She held it out to Draco silently, and forced a sad smile that did nothing to hide her teary eyes. Jean was ever the empath, and it seemed that she was struggling to hold in her own sobs. Draco appreciated her concern, but was unable to voice it without choking on the melancholy air.

He took a feeble bite of the scone using his hand which wasn't holding Potter's. It was delicious, and distracting, and almost enough to take his mind off of the situation. It was marvellous that he was even able to consume anything, let alone something so rich in flavor.

Just as Draco was finishing up his pastry, he felt Potter's hand slipping out of his. He looked over at Potter, and their eyes met for a moment.

"I'll be quick," the Golden-Boy whispered. He gestured to Jean. "She just wants to talk with me for a minute, nothing longer." Draco nodded glumly, watching as Potter hesitantly exited the room. He realised that Potter was wearing pyjamas, seemingly having flooed from his house directly into the hospital. Draco looked down at his own ensemble, which wasn't much more formal. He was almost glad that no one else could see him wearing his sleeping clothes, since he was alone in the room.