┌───── ･☆☽･ ─────┐ 𝕛𝕒𝕟𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝟙 𝟡 𝟡 𝟞 ━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━ "pansy leave me alone, i'm to busy right now"
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"Draco, you're going to wear a hole in the floor," Adella scolded, watching as he paced back and forth outside the infirmary. "I'm sure we won't be waiting much longer." She reassured him, and herself as worry slowly crept back into her mind.
He shook his head.
Draco felt the need to move almost without end; if his limbs were moving the anxiety and dread was gone, or at least he could ignore it a while.
He worried.
Things he felt he should have done, coupled with his perceived failures dominated his mind. He thought about his actions and words, finding them inadequate. He had failed to protect his sister, again. . . and this time there was no excuse.
"She's going to be fine, I know it," Hermione reassured them confidently, though the rhythmic tapping of her shoe on the stone floor said otherwise. It had been hours since Madame Pomfrey asked them to leave.
Draco, so consumed by worry had no energy to pick a fight with the brunette. It wasn't the time or place. 'Rosie wouldn't appreciate it' he thought. . . and that was all he thought about now.
Festering guilt rendered his mind ineffective, his short term memory shot. Not that it bothered him. He didn't want to remember that he'd failed her. He wanted everything to go back to how it was.
Never before had Draco noticed how time is so much like water; that it can pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by in a blink of an eye. The clock says it is measured and constant, tick tock, part of an orderly world; the clock lies. Time is never on our side. . . and Draco was finding that out the hard way.
The past four hours seemed to pass by endlessly. In this dreadful loop of minutes turning into hours, hours into what felt like days, the coldness was colder and the colours were flat.
All the while his insides felt as if there was nothing there, nothing to need feeding, nothing to have need of anything at all. . . not when his mind was occupied with something far more important.
His sister.
The rusty hinges of the old door squealed like fingernails on a dusty chalkboard. Draco cringed at the sound, standing still to see who had disrupted him from his coping mechanism.
There were many who'd accumulated outside the infirmary; all waiting for news on the brightest beacon at Hogwarts. Under different circumstances, Draco would've snapped, forced them to leave, shouting vile remarks their way till they left his sister alone.
