the boy who had no choice [d.m]

𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞 𝖋𝖎𝖛𝖊

[the scene in the opening gif is finally here]

ELARA NEVER THOUGHT SHE'D SEE DRACO CRY.

Frankly, she didn't think he was capable of tears. He barely showed any emotion - she never thought she'd have to prepare for this.

But seeing him bent over the sink, his breath rasping as his shoulders heaved for breath, his face damp with tears - she had never felt worse in her entire life.

"Draco."

She tried to forget that the last time they'd been in this very same situation, he'd begun to hex her and then proceeded to fuck his feelings away before leaving.

Draco didn't turn around but his knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the two sinks on either side of the one he was hunched over.

"Get out." His voice was broken, rough.

He'd said the same thing to her before.

"No," Elara replied, softly, crossing the bathroom floor, slowly. She could see his hair was damp - she didn't know  if he'd washed his face or if it was sweat.

His sweater vest was lying on the floor, tossed there like he'd ripped it off himself. She was pretty sure he had.

"It's okay," Elara said, softly, coming to a stop behind him. Her heart was pounding against her ribs and one hand drifted to her wand, in case he lashed out. "I'm here now."

Gingerly, she extended her hand, touched his shoulder. He twisted away, still not facing her, his head dropped low. His eyes were shut.

"I'm here," she repeated, gently, vaguely feeling like she was dealing with a cornered animal.

His eyes opened, meeting hers in the reflection of the mirror, over his shoulder. He looked torn - shattered apart into pieces.

She took another miniscule step towards him so her chest was brushing his back.

He made to flinch and she could see the words on the tip of his tongue.

Get out.

But then she was wrapping her arms around his torso from behind, pressing her cheek flat against his back. "I'm here," she whispered against the material of his white shirt. "I'm here."

Draco went rigid against her. She couldn't see his face but she knew, by the sharp intake of his breaths, that his eyes were wet.

His hands didn't move from clutching the edge of the sink.

She stayed like that for several minutes, feeling his shoulders heave as he cried. It twisted her heart into a mangled mess.

But then his breaths became quieter, slower. She noticed his hands loosen just a fraction over the edge of the sink, his knuckles gaining some colour.