Everlasting (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Worth Fighting For

The night lurked in every shadow cast through Hogwarts windows. The moon was back, glaring at you, pleading. The moon had its wishes, ones which you refused to listen to, believing that every wish of the moon's was ridiculous. Twisting your wand in between your fingers, flicking it up and down, you could not help but stare out of the windows at the gleaming moon, feeling it speak to you yet its words being blurred by your own passion. There was the same thing on your mind constantly, lurking, the image of his face. What don't I know? You asked yourself. What did I miss? A lot, apparently. So many emotions sprung within you, each hard to identify as it moulded itself within the others. One emotional wreck was what you were, and any cognitive process was a malfunctioning one due to your thoughts of Draco. Sighing, you ran your hand through your hair, feeling its smooth texture. And, as you did so, out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of movement. Your eyes immediately darting towards the figure - your heart stopped right there and then. Do you stop him? Do you let him go? There he was, pacing away after having noticed you. Did he want you to call him? Did he want you to let him go?

"Hey," you called out softly, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. His courage was too weak for him to turn around, leaving him in the position he was in, waiting for you to keep talking. "Don't run away."

Slowly, as he remained with his back towards you, you strolled towards him, hoping not to startle the boy with woeful eyes.

"Look at me," you instructed, standing behind him, speaking in a low and soft tone.

With all your might, you held back from succumbing entirely. However, not able to prevent it, you closed your eyes and gently inhaled his scent. The scent that you so loved. The scent of home. The scent of protection and safety. Gosh - smelling Draco's cologne and natural scent; the perfect mixture of it - it made you nostalgic of a better past. One with less pain and dejection.

Finally, when he turned around, the moonlight shone entirely on your faces, illuminating them within the desolate darkness. As he looked down at you, just before your face, your eyes lingered upon each other so closely. His blue eyes ... those beautiful, longing eyes, which you recognised so well. They were holding back tears. You'd learned what Draco's tears looked like, and you recognised him holding them back. Everything ... everything he did was something you recognised. Something you knew well. His actions, expressions, tones - they were all a safe place to you. A place you knew so well, like your own self.

"My poor boy," you whispered out with a trembling lip, examining his despondent face as it watched you. Slowly and warily, you lifted your hand, colliding the edge of it softly with the side of Draco's face, gently running your fingers down his soft, delicate skin. Against your hand, Draco closed his eyes, inhaling with a raspy breath, one which shook from repressed tears. "What have they done to you?" You whispered out, voice as weak as your legs. You wished to repress your own tears, but there a singular tear rolled down your cheek at the feel of Draco's skin.

Draco's expression relaxed against the feel of your hand, gently pressing his face closer to it, wishing to feel more of it. The rawness of his face ... the depths of his emotions. You believed in him, despite his wrongs and despite his evils, you believed he was a loving boy with a whole heart ... with a part of it reserved for you. There was no way that over all those years Draco was lying - there was no way that over a summer all those memories ... all that laughter ... all those secrets, promises ... those feelings - there was no way that it all disappeared so quickly! Thus, you believed. You persisted.

As another tear fell from your other eye silently, Draco's eye released a pained tear too in rhythm to yours, as they both raced down your faces. Now, Draco had shot his own hand up, wrapping his large hand around your unsteady, fragile wrist and taking a hold of it tightly, but securely as to not harm you. He now had control over the hand that you had against his face, as he gently lowered it away from his face. He opened up his eyes with all his will, as he pressed your arm against your side and away from him, scarcely letting go of you and backing up from you.